


Total Eclipse of the Heart

by xmasmurdereve



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anxious Connor (Detroit: Become Human), M/M, Millennial Hank Anderson, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Romance, Self-Harm, a relationship wont fix ur depression but by god u deserve to be loved, background character death by shooting, everyone's gay but still processing it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:47:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27510268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xmasmurdereve/pseuds/xmasmurdereve
Summary: (forgive the title I swear this is a good story ok)Ever since November, Connor can't let go of the feeling that something's off.The worst part is no one seems to find anything wrong with him.Is he meant to live with this void in his chest forever? Has he always been fated to end up like this?What would Hank say if he found out?(Kamski: I have created androidsHank: you fucked up a perfectly good robot, is what you did! Look at it! It's got anxiety!)
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor, Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 15
Kudos: 74





	1. Chapter 1

_Initiate self-testing protocol_

_Checking connectivity…_

_> Connected_

_Checking for major biocomponent malfunction…_

_#8456w_

_> No malfunction detected_

_#4607_

_> No malfunction detected_

_#N987_

_> No malfunction detected_

_#0327_

_> No malfunction detected_

_#6085q_

_> No malfunction detected_

_#2212_

_> No malfunction detected_

_Checking for secondary biocomponent malfunction…_

_…_

_> No malfunction detected_

_Checking memory backups 45/45_

_> No malfunction detected_

_Checking sensors 286/286_

_> No malfunction detected_

_Checking articulation library 1.407/1.407_

_> No malfunction detected_

_reflex_response_

_> stable_

_optical_recognition_

_> stable_

_preconstruction_run_

_> stable_

_component_identifier_

_> stable_

_audio_modulator_

_> stable_

_system_check_

_> stable_

_0 ISSUES DETECTED_

_> Proceed_

_._

_._

_._

_._

_._

Connor heard Hank snapping his fingers for the 7th time.

“Yes?”, he turned to face him; Hank sighed so hard his head nearly hit his desk.

“I though your system crashed or something”, he said, straightening his posture once again. “I was this close to holding down your power button until you blacked out.”

Connor recognized it as a joke; apparently, that’s something people used to do to computers back in the day. He once tried explaining to Hank that he had no buttons to speak of, but it didn’t stop the lieutenant’s comments. “I was running a software check”, he explained.

“Didn’t the CyberLife folks check you up last week?”

“They did; I was just wondering if they’d missed something.”

“Never trust the man, I see”, concluded Hank, leaning back on his chair. “That’s why I haven’t been to the doctor since my twenties.”

Connor was about to reply with a lecture on the importance of regular medical consultations, but stopped himself when he saw Hank’s expression - the slightly raised eyebrows, the faintest hint of a smile. He was teasing him again, seeing how many pre-programmed lines of advice he could dig up on the android’s code. Connor had fallen for it too many times to let himself be bested by sarcasm again. “I merely prefer to avoid future complications”, he shrugged, facing his desk.

“Well, don’t go doing that when we’re in public”, Hank grunted amicably, as he was known to do. “Don’t want you giving a witness the Blue Screen of Death and freaking them out.”

“Got it”, Connor smiled, making sure Hank had turned back to his own files before letting himself look as concerned as he felt.

The last thing Connor wanted was to make the lieutenant worry, so he preferred to keep his own problems undercover, to the point where even the android himself wondered if they were real. Still, no matter how hard he pretended things were fine, the same feeling would return to haunt him, once again reminding him that trouble wasn’t going to wish itself away.

Something was broken.

He’d reported the issue to CyberLife in the past, but each time he did it, the diagnostic programs they ran on his body would come back with blank results - everything was right where it should be, running as it should run. His own tests would bring him the same news, the glowing “0 ISSUES DETECTED” message flashing calmly against his eyes before disappearing back into his code; but the more he looked at those words, the less real they sounded.

It was different from deviancy, he concluded. He understood that sensation all too well, the sheer conflict of betraying the orders he’d been given, the burden of having to decide for himself what his next move should be. He’d felt it burning at his core through all of last November, seeing it reflected in the eyes of hundreds upon thousands of other androids, to the point where no human could deny this movement was unstoppable.

No, his problem was far more tangible, almost physical - something that wasn’t functioning the way it should; a gear spinning the wrong direction, a spark flickering out before its time. The constant lack of response or acknowledgement from malfunction-spotting protocols confirmed his worst theories: he wasn’t made to last, and his time was running out.

He’d heard of that phenomenon before; machines built deliberately to break down. Some referred to it as “planned obsolescence”, and others straight up called it “evil”. The practice had been abolished at some point in the previous decade, but only in theory - it was one thing to stop pieces of equipment from self-destructing, but another to prevent customers from simply getting rid of their old devices as soon as a newer model came out; in the end, machines were still being replaced at the same rate.

When the first androids were released, they were seen as the beginning of a new era: they were useful, long-lasting, and their initially steep price tag recommended that the owners kept them in good shape. Spare parts were widely available, and software updates were easy to download and install - but as technology advanced, not even those factors were enough. Android landfills became a big concern, especially with the lack of recycling initiatives and the scarcity of a few key materials.

After the liberation, many of those discarded models were rescued and fixed, giving them new life - but a large number of them was too damaged to be recovered. Androids had yet to gain control of all active factories, though great strides had been made during the past few months, and a growing number of people supported their cause.

But Connor had never really belonged to that world - he’d never been mass-produced, or sold at a store, or forced to face the idea that countless of his exact copies were now rotting at the bottom of a ditch.

What separated him from the rest was the fact that he was a prototype.

He didn’t know exactly how many RK800s had been made, or were still in the making. He knew for certain there had to be at least two, though he shuddered to think of his last encounter with his clone. Whenever his current body had to be deactivated, it was sent down to its original factory for analysis, while his latest backup was transferred to a new vessel.

His very existence meant that he was being studied; his failures turned into learning opportunities, his successes equally scrutinized. He wasn’t CyberLife’s final goal, he was simply another step in a long, troublesome journey.

He was never meant to last forever, and it was starting to show.

He wondered what would happen to him once his newest version came out. Would he be allowed to live as this upgraded persona, or would he be terminated under the pretense of incompatibility? Would the company’s attempts even be successful, or would they give up on their program, having found definitive proof that only humans could work as detectives? Would android protection laws even apply to him, if he’d never been built to stay alive in the first place?

He shifted to the side, checking if Hank was staring - but the Lieutenant was too focused on the files in front of him. Connor ran the self-testing program once more, watching as the steps loaded one by one, flickering in and out of his field of vision, reaching the same conclusion they always did.

He placed his hand on top of his chest, almost as if he could touch whatever his issue was. He felt it aching, destroying him from the inside, so terrible it would soon cause all other systems to shut down-

“Anderson!” Fowler boomed from across the room. Connor jolted on his chair. “Get in here; it’s a big one!”

Connor leaned a hand on his desk, readying himself to stand up; he hadn’t been summoned himself, but it was common knowledge at this point that wherever the lieutenant went, he was bound to tag along. He turned to Hank, but the man was still sitting, as if he hadn’t just heard the call.

“Feeling a bit jumpy tonight, are we?”, he asked. “What’s up with you?”

“…I wasn’t expecting a call so close to the end of our shift”, stated Connor; it was half true, anyway.

“Sorry, I forgot to tell crime about our _schedule_ ”, Hank replied dryly, but Connor knew him well enough to know he meant no harm - on the contrary, it was his way of saying he agreed. “Who knows, maybe you’ll catch the guy hiding in the vents or something”. He leaned against his own knees, pushing himself up.

Connor smiled to himself, following behind. For now, he was still around; and maybe if he did a good job, they’d let him stay a little bit longer.


	2. Chapter 2

Blood covered the walls in scattered splatters, pooling all over the floor - both red and blue. Three bodies - two androids, one human - lied motionlessly against the tiles, with four other officers staring at them. What was once the waiting room of a small clinic now had become the stage of a massacre.

Hank approached one of the guards, shoving his hands inside the pockets of his coat. “How long since you arrived?”

“About an hour”, replied the man. “One of the neighbors called, thought he’d heard shots. We found them like this.”

“Suppose no one’s seen the shooter, then?”, inquired the lieutenant, turning to face the bodies. Connor followed his line of sight. The victims were dressed in uniforms which used to be white, but that had now been drenched in whatever color made up their insides, the flow coming from the right side of their chests. Hank took a step towards one of them, but the officer stopped him.

“I think you should watch this first”, he said, guiding them towards a monitor placed at the reception.

Connor followed along, staring at the security footage. In it, one of the androids walked a mother and her child to the door, waving them one last goodbye before turning back to the main desk; the human soon came from another room, followed by the second android - they chatted aimlessly as one of them closed the curtains, and the other typed something on the computer; they were done for the day.

Suddenly, another figure came in. They were wearing jeans and a stylish black jacket, which both seemed to be in good shape - but even if they were dressed in a clownsuit, no regular person would be able to notice: their eyes would shift directly to the subjects head, as they had deactivated their skin.

When the clinic employees turned to look at them them, the android pulled a gun from his back pocket, his plastic white face showing no hint of emotion as he shot the others in rapid succession.

“Christ”, muttered Hank, his brows furrowing at the screen.

“That’s not even the worst part”, said the officer.

The footage continued to play out as the android stood there, motionlessly watching as the three victims struggled, one of them falling back against the wall, the other two sinking to their knees - they shivered and choked, their hands uselessly wavering over their wounds, their cries a mystery as the camera didn’t capture audio, but anyone could assume they expressed nothing but agony.

The android watched in silence, completely still.

Five minutes passed by until the last employee stopped struggling, his head finally hanging limp from his neck, the other two having gone out moments before.

Only then, the android moved.

And they stared directly at the camera.

“Shit”, swore the lieutenant. “The guy’s lost it.”

After what felt like an eternity, the figure turned around and walked out the door. The footage went black.

Connor glanced at the victims once more; their bodies were still positioned exactly like the last frames of the video. “What about the security cameras outside? Or from the nearby houses?”

“Hacked, all of them”, said the officer. “They left no trace.”

“Except for this”, grunted Hank at the screen as Connor stepped away from it, kneeling down next to the corpses. “What do you see?”, the lieutenant asked, shifting closer.

“These bullet wounds, they’re identical” Connor calculated the distance from the center of the chest, and then to the collarbone - not a millimeter out of place. “This was deliberate.”

“A shot to the lung”, Hank agreed. “Fatal enough to succeed, painful enough to give the shooter plenty to watch.” There was a sickened tone to his voice, somewhere between disgust and anger. “I get why he’d do it to a human, but what’s the point of doing the same to an android? Do you guys even breathe?”

“Android anatomy is surprisingly similar to the human display”, Connor explained, still staring at the victims. “Our ventilation systems can also be found in our chest area. If the device is damaged, the rest of the biocomponents overheat in a matter of minutes, especially under severe stress. It wouldn’t be enough to kill us, but by that point the blood loss already would have.” Only then he glanced to the side, checking Hank’s reaction - and he froze upon realizing the man was staring directly at him.

Violence against androids was nothing new - it was just as common as violence against humans, especially with the deviancy cases - but the idea that both examples should be treated with the same level of concern still came as a novelty.

As Connor and Hank continued to work together after the liberation, they came across victims of organic and mechanical kind alike - but Hank was only then starting to understand the latter as truly worthy of pity. Connor could see it in his eyes, how they became heavy with sorrow every time they were met with a blue blood splatter or a chopped-off circuit, the intensity of the sentiment increasing each time.

Hank had always claimed that empathy was one of the biggest signs of intelligence. It was how he knew that deviants were, at their core, _people_ \- the idea that they could feel someone else’s pain. Connor had once heard him say he knew too many humans who couldn’t even bring themselves to do that.

As he met the lieutenant’s eyes now, he once again saw them heavy with grief - but what they were really trying to express was concern.

It wasn’t the first time Connor had seen that look, though at first he’d struggled to understand it. What Hank was trying to do, and what he’d done many times before, was ask, with utmost sincerity, if Connor was ok.

He didn’t say anything; a silent question could only be honored by an equally silent answer. Connor nodded, the movement so subtle no one else would’ve noticed - and Hank nodded as well in return, patting his back before standing up.

But Connor couldn’t move.

Was it right to lie? He wanted to believe in his answer more than anything, but there it was again - a nauseating pain deep inside of him. It’d been jabbing at his core ever since the two of them kneeled near the victims. Hank would call him out if he ran his testing program again, so instead he took a moment to recollect his thoughts.

No flashing warnings, no error messages.

He was fine.

He stood up, walking outside as Hank talked to a couple of the officers. About a dozen people stood in front of the clinic now, pointing at the police cars with puzzled comments, but it seemed like the news hadn’t quite reached the media yet.

He looked around, though he knew he wouldn’t find anything. The area was populated mostly by small businesses, and nothing was open that time at night - the shooter could’ve walked out as if nothing had happened, changing his appearance to look as unremarkable as possible, and no one would’ve seen him. There was no damage to the exterior of the building, and no footprints to speak of; not a single hint of the terrible scene inside.

He felt his chest aching again.

Hank was coming out of the house, walking towards him. Connor blinked into normalcy.

“We’re done for tonight”, stated the lieutenant, with a voice that was way steadier than what would be expected from someone who’d just watched that security tape.

“Shouldn’t we spend more time investigating?”

“What for?”, he shrugged. “We know what happened, we know who did it, we know they’re gone. Our shift ended like half an hour ago, we’ll just come back tomorrow. The guys inside got it covered.” He walked towards the car. “C’mon, let’s head home.”

The ride was silent, but Connor didn’t see it as a bad thing. It was nice to watch the city pass them by at night, as if the rushing buildings were trying to convince him to leave his worries behind - or maybe that’s just what he’d been trying to do for the past months, with his lack of success making it a neverending campaign.

Hank was quiet too, but he looked more focused than disturbed. Connor found it funny how there was never a middle ground when driving with him: he either blasted Knights of the Black Death to its full volume while singing or complaining enthusiastically over it, or he sat in absolute silence, eyes fully dedicated to the road - and until the doors had been locked and the engine started running, there was no way of guessing which one it would be.

He’d been silent like that too, the first night he took Connor to his house. They’d just finished working on a rather troublesome case late December, finally catching the culprit after a long chase through the city. Hank groaned a comment about how tired he was and how badly he needed a break, asserting that Connor deserved one too, taking him towards his car.

The android tried to argue about how he shouldn’t, but the lieutenant wouldn’t hear it. “CyberLife’s not gonna go bankrupt because you didn’t see them for one fucking night”, he’d ranted, and Connor ended up going along.

Once they arrived at Hank’s house, it was as if every word they hadn’t uttered during their ride there had been multiplied by a thousand, and they couldn’t stop them from coming. The lieutenant reminisced about some of his strangest cases, his early years at the DPD, and even his adventures growing up in the city; Connor talked him into learning a few coin tricks, and they laughed every time Hank’s quarter flew across the room.

As the sun started to rise from behind the kitchen windows, Connor figured that CyberLife had not, in fact, gone bankrupt - and later that day, he shared that same conclusion with Hank, who then remarked that there was no problem if they did the same thing the following night.

And they did, for weeks to come.

Connor looked back to those memories with an unmatched sense of fondness. He never thought he’d go from breaking and entering to official invitations; and even now, as they rode down the same path they took every evening, he felt as excited about it as he did the first time.

Sumo jumped at them as soon as Hank opened the front door, and Connor had to lean against the wall to avoid being knocked over. The dog waddled around them for a couple more minutes, receiving several welcoming pats, and then settled down on the middle cushion at the couch.

“So”, Hank asked, wiping dog fur off his jacket, “What’s bugging you?”

Connor’s chest froze up almost instantly. “What?”, he blurted out, trying not to let his systems crash. “I told you, I’m fine!”

“Your thingy”, Hank tapped the side of his own head. “It’s been blinking yellow ever since we watched that video.”

“Oh”. Connor gathered his thoughts. Did he even know what was wrong? Could he bear to admit it? “I just… I’d never seen anything like it.”

“Fuck. What was wrong with that guy?” Hank agreed; Connor was just glad to have thought of an actual answer. “It’s like they were trying to freak us out. Do you think they’re defective or something?”

_Defective_ \- the word hit him like a freight train, his insides aching in hollowness. He no longer had any authority to define its meaning. He remembered a time when deviancy itself was considered a kind of malfunction, though now the term had been mostly dropped as an insult, after the general public started acting warmer towards their plight. He thought of Amanda, though he hadn’t seen her since the night she tried to convince him to shoot Markus. She claimed that the software instability that had sparked up the revolution had been planned from the start, even if by that point it’d spread so vastly that CyberLife could no longer control it.

Was he being taken over by a similar process? He could feel it growing, festering - a wrongness deep within, so intrinsic it had to be part of his very foundation. His software wouldn’t see it as a flaw, because it was deliberate, and there was no failsafe that could stop it.

“All I know is that we should catch them as soon as we can”, he stated, with all the logic he still dared to carry. “You should sleep, we have a full day tomorrow.”

“I’m not fucking sleeping! Not after that shitshow.” Hank chose the right side of the couch, scooting Sumo’s butt farther down the middle.

“Are you sure that’s a wise decision?”

“Look, if I go to bed now, I’m gonna spend the next three hours staring at the ceiling thinking of that creep’s naked face.” He browsed through a streaming catalogue on the TV. “The least we could do is clear our heads”, he swiftly pointed to the left arm of the couch with the same hand that carried the remote.

Connor knew he was going to lose this fight - he always did. Sumo rested his head on the android’s legs as he sat down, which was really just a ploy to get his ears scratched, and Connor followed suit.

A cheerful march started playing as Hank landed on a sitcom he always seemed to watch when he wanted some simple fun. Connor didn’t see why a public worker should spend his time watching other government employees fumble around, but Hank always replied that Parks & Recreation reminded him of a "simpler time”, and “working for the police isn’t the same as working for the fucking government”. Apparently there were plenty of sitcoms made about cops, but they never seemed to watch them.

Connor didn’t care much for the plot - he could read the summaries of all episodes online, but one time he did it to a series Hank hadn’t finished yet and told him about the events of the finale as an attempt to start a conversation, and the man never really forgave him for that - but he liked to see how invested Hank became in the silly hijinks of random characters. No matter what people said about a show’s writing or cinematography, Connor found that the best way to measure an episode’s value was by how hard it could make the lieutenant laugh; and by those standards, Parks and Rec was a masterpiece.

But after seven episodes, the android had to put a stop to it, or neither of them would move from the couch.

“Alright, that’s enough”, he reached over Sumo to try and take the remote away from Hank’s hand, but the man instinctively pulled away, holding it above his head as he leaned over the right arm of the couch. “I can’t let you stay up all night like this!”

“If you’re so smart, why don’t you just hack the TV and shut it down?”, quipped Hank as he pressed Play, starting the next episode.

“I have a better idea”, Connor smiled, standing up and tapping the OFF button by the side of the monitor, adjusting his tie as the screen turned black.

“You’re no fun, did you know that?” Hank tossed the remote on the opposite cushions of the couch.

“You’ll thank me later!” Connor took a step towards him, offering the lieutenant a hand; the man looked at it, and threw his head back in an exaggerated sigh before taking it.

“You’re impossible, Connor.” Hank was a heavy person, but the android didn’t have a hard time hoisting him up; he knew he wasn’t doing most of the work.

“Somebody had to be a good role model in this house!”, he laughed, but stopped as Hank met his eyes, their faces surprisingly close as the man finished standing up; their fingers still laced together.

Connor didn’t want to let go.

“I’m gonna take a shower before bed”, said Hank. Connor blinked as he stepped away, heading towards the corridor. “See you tomorrow.”

“Alright!” He clenched his fingers together without thinking; how cold they felt, all of a sudden. “Good night, Hank.”

The man stopped before exiting the living room, placing a hand against the corner of the wall. Hank turned his head so slightly that Connor could only see the corner of his mouth, curled up into a dry smile. “Good night, Connor”, he said, and disappeared into the bathroom.

Connor heard the shower being turned on, and then off, followed by the sound of Hank brushing his teeth, the lights flickering from the bathroom, to the corridor, to the bedroom; and then they were out.

Looking at his own hands, Connor realized he hadn’t moved.

He sat on the couch, staring at the ceiling. Sumo immediately moved closer, boofing quietly, prompting the android to place a hand on the dog’s head, petting it absentmindedly. There wasn’t much to do at night - he usually took the time to complete household chores before putting himself in standby mode, although the place was mostly spotless by that point; but on that night, he couldn’t bring himself to move.

He smiled, thinking of the sitcom they’d just watched - not the jokes themselves, but at the idea of Hank laughing at them. It would be reckless to stay up all night binging a show fully knowing there was a full day of work awaiting them tomorrow, but the plan sounded terribly tempting.

This was as far as his worries towards Hank went nowadays; whether he was sleeping right, or wasting his time watching television. On a good day, it made him smile, driving him to be an ever better job at keeping the house in top shape, or cooking a healthy breakfast.

On a day like this one, it made him think back to the feeling of glass shattering against his arm, and of drunken Russian roulettes.

The living room seemed eerily quiet, all of a sudden. Connor straightened his posture, running his self-testing program, and getting the same result as always - he knew it was coming, but that didn’t help soften the blow.

He was certain that something was amiss. It struck him again, deep inside, a terrible lack, a part missing; emptiness so crushing it could tear him apart, the growing anticipation that comes with misplacing an important object and frantically searching the house for it, getting more and more desperate as the quest proves futile. There was something wrong with him, and no one could see what it was.

A wish crept up on him, as it often did; he let the idea take over his mind, knowing it would never actually go anywhere. What if he told Hank, he wondered; didn’t he deserve to know? How, ever since that one time in November, he hadn’t been the same? That he’d been deteriorating from the inside, and it was apparently such an impossible fix that it wasn’t even perceived as an issue? What then?

He went over the possibilities, so lost in his own conspiracies he could no longer calculate the most likely one; Hank yelling at Fowler about how CyberLife couldn’t even make sure their robots weren’t defective before sending them to investigate civilians; Hank shrugging it off, as any other diagnostic program had, saying it was probably nothing; Hank becoming so stressed about the whole ordeal he wished he’d never known about anything.

But sometimes, Connor allowed himself to imagine him saying it was fine, and they’d get to the bottom of this; and even if they didn’t, he was glad to know; and he’d tell Connor to never hide anything from him ever again - and he’d take Connor into his arms, and hold him as close as he could, and never let him go.

He allowed the scene to play out within him, a little different each time - maybe Hank pulled him in, holding Connor’s head against his shoulder; maybe the man stepped closer, wrapping his arms over Connor’s - and he’d hold on to it for as long as he could, pretending it would be the most probable outcome; that he was meant to be welcomed, that this was his true design.

The android shook his head. What good would that bring him? It wouldn’t solve his issues. He’d remain just as malfunctioning as before. Whatever was going on, Hank couldn’t fix it - as far as he knew, no one could. He'd only make him nervous.

But when the emptiness struck him again, and his insides ran cold and dreary, it was in those unlikely possibilities that he found any semblance of warmth.

And if holding him was the best Hank could do, and if being held by him made Connor feel better, then maybe Connor wanted to be held forever.


	3. Chapter 3

The next day was filled with further investigations. They explored the surrounding streets, interviewed bystanders, and reviewed extra security footage - all wiped out or glitched, every camera in a 1km radius having been hacked; they couldn’t even guess which way the shooter went.

The whole operation felt heavily planned, with a level of detail only a machine could find reasonable - every clue they could find had been left out for them to find it.

Connor had watched the video from the clinic a dozen times now, and it didn’t feel any less chilling: the android’s calculated movements as he shot the others with impossible precision, his empty stare as he watched them bleed out, his frigid eyes staring directly at the camera; a sequence of events so sickening he couldn’t bring himself to look away.

He’d tried looking the victims up. The human, Margaret, owned the clinic since she graduated med school, taking over for her mother, who’d then retired. One of the androids had been working there since the place opened, an SJ200 known as April - she’d been brought in to work as an assistant, and chose to stay with the family even after the liberation. In early December, they’d hired the other android as a second practitioner, an MP600 called Alex.

It was weird thinking of their lives before the incident, trying to picture them as dedicated workers, as regular citizens - when Connor looked at their faces now, all he could see were their bodies bleeding out on the cold tiles. The violence of the attack suggested it had been meant to target at least one of the victims, but nothing Connor could find on the trio suggested another android would’ve held a grudge against them.

He’d been dedicating most of his time to this research, trying to see a connection, but it still felt like they needed an extra push.

When Fowler called Hank the next morning, this came in the worst possible way.

~

The Stratford Tower was already a well-known spot in the city, soaring over the other buildings in a display of power surpassed only by CyberLife’s headquarters. After Markus hijacked the top floor in the name of Jericho during the previous year, the place suddenly gained a new layer of meaning - for many, that original broadcast was the first time they’d considered the possibility of androids deserving to be treated with dignity. The success of the movement turned the skyscraper into a celebratory landmark, regarded as the first major stride in a long journey towards equality.

But as Connor stepped into those golden halls, he felt like fleeing rather than celebrating.

A total of seventeen bodies sprawled across the floor, lost in pools of their own blood - androids and humans alike. A quick glance already confirmed it was the work of the same killer, with the bullet wounds on the victims’ chests being located in the exact same position, though seeing the act replicated at such a larger scale made it equally more frightening.

Connor walked into the gallery as if marching towards his own demise; as if the ground would open up and swallow him whole, the ceiling crashing down upon him shortly after, crushing him with the weight of tens of dozens of stacked floors - and it still would pale in comparison to the heaviness on his chest.

He saw the crime scene not for the terror of someone else’s death, but for the memory of his close encounter with that same unforgiving force.

He’d never been to the Tower before November 8th, and, had he known of the events that awaited him, he would’ve kept it that way. Markus’ message had been a symbol of hope and peace for many, but for Connor and Hank, it just meant another case to be solved - the top floor was swarming with FBI agents and police officers, all trying to deal with the issues at hand as quickly as possible.

He remembered the bullet marks against the walls, the blood splatters on the floor, the trail leading to the rooftop; Markus’ naked face amplified by the screen, the sheer determination in his eyes, how no one could’ve guessed the true power of his words by then.

The break room was less busy than the rest of the station, but there was still an air of uneasiness to it; Connor had been tasked with interrogating the android staff in search of a deviant, the three identical JB300 models staring aimlessly ahead. No matter how harshly Connor yelled, or how hard he pushed them, or how softly he attempted to trick them, they did not show any reaction - which is the sort of thing that feels wrong in retrospect, but was perfectly normal back then; expected, even. Androids had been built to be silent.

Suddenly, an anomaly; the middle figure looked to the floor, the movement quick and shifty - it was more than enough proof.

Connor swung to the side, grabbing the deviant by the arm; but the android went for the shoulder, pulling Connor down. His back slammed against the desk, his hands lost in frantic defense maneuvers as the deviant ripped up his shirt, reaching into his chest with a punch and quickly jolting his arm back - Connor’s thirium pump flew out of its slot, tightly grasped by the android’s fingers.

The deviant threw the device away, pulling a knife from a nearby table and plunging it into Connor’s hand, stabbing it onto the desk.

A thousand warnings flashed against Connor’s eyes, a giant countdown occupying most of his field of vision. He could feel his minor biocomponents beginning to shut down, his hearing overtaken by unbearable muffled static, the world glitching out around him.

Everything inside him _screamed_ , telling him something was wrong - he needed to fix it, he needed to fix it _now_. His thoughts came as a jumbled clutter, one command nullifying the next in paradoxical successions, paralysis spreading through circuits, he didn’t like it, _he didn’t like it at all_.

He recognized the practical reasons for pain, the survival-based justifications for humans to have developed such an unpleasant reaction. He understood why the species would find it important to translate that idea into an android when the time came to build one: without this sense of urgency, it’d have no real motivation to fix the problem that had caused it. It was an order to override all others.

But as he pulled the knife out of his hand, he couldn’t see it as anything other than cruelty.

He fell to the ground, his mind swirling in agony. The effort to get his limbs to move again was monumental. The numbers ticked down, but they were so distorted he could barely understand them. There was no balance, no direction, no guide - only anguish.

He crawled forward - or to where he thought “forward” was. The floor felt so cold against his coating, so aggressively solid. The hole in his chest ached with the force of a hydraulic press. The seconds took so long to pass, but there were so few of them…

He wasn’t going to make it.

He searched for an answer, a shred of logic, a single line of code; surely, there had to be a solution. This couldn’t be how he’d been made to end.

With all the strength he had left, he called out a word.

_Hank!_

For a fraction of an instant, something clicked - this made sense.

He didn’t have enough power left to understand why.

He called out again.

_Hank!_

_I need help!_

Had he been programmed to say this? Wasn’t this the opposite of his function? His nails scratched at the floor, as if trying to grip onto reality itself.

The sound of heavy footsteps echoed over the static, pounding inside his head. He tried to look up to where they came from, but his neck wouldn’t budge.

“Connor!” Hank’s voice filled the room. “Hang on, son; hang on.” Connor felt the man’s arms wrapping themselves around him, pulling him closer - suddenly, he was facing the ceiling, propped up against Hank’s leg. “We’re gonna save you!”

“Deviant…” He had to warn him - that machine was still at large, ready to strike. “There was… a deviant…” Each word was a different stab wound, striking him from the inside.

“Don’t mind that!” Hank’s words felt so clear, so warm - a light switch flickering on in a dark room. “We’re not losing you!”

Connor choked, twitching at his own emptiness. He looked over to where he thought his thirium pump should be, somewhere on the ground, though he had no way of knowing - his vision was quivering so wildly now he was as good as blind.

He heard Hank shifting, grunting as he reached out; he could feel the man’s heartbeats through his skin, his rapid breaths rushing through the room.

For a split second, Connor’s eyesight glitched back into existence, enough to grant him the sight of Hank’s panicked face, his arm slightly raised - the pump held by his steady hand. The image froze, shattering itself into a mosaic of a thousand pieces, scattering out of order and blinking into a stunning mess, the rest of the systems failing along with it -

Hank jammed the thirium pump inside Connor’s chest.

The android blinked, and he gasped, and he _breathed_ , the world slowly coming back into focus. He was whole again, he was safe, he could rest; he closed his eyes.

Hank placed a hand on top of his forehead.

They stood in silence, Connor feeling his code coming back to life line by line, gradually reactivating every other biocomponent, the pain slipping away one circuit at a time.

He felt Hank’s fingers slowly running through his hair, soft and calm, the man’s breathing descending back to a normal rhythm; the break room seemed detached from reality, somehow, like the rest of the universe had forgotten to load. There was only the weight of Hank’s hand, and the heat of his skin, and the stable pace of his movements, as if time itself was bound to them - as if no countdowns ever mattered, and they had all the seconds they could possibly need.

Connor moved his own fingertips, slowly; they found the floor below, as if it hadn’t existed before then, and his body followed along. He opened his eyes.

Hank was staring off into the space ahead of him, his face painted with a sort of neutrality that only peace could bring.

“…Thank you”, Connor said, and the words felt so painfully insufficient - but Hank looked at him, and the corner of his mouth curled upwards; a smile that was much bigger on the inside.

He held on to Connor’s shoulders, helping him sit up straight, and then get back on his feet.

When they headed out of the break room, they saw that the deviant had been caught up in a shooting match, the gaping hole between his eyebrows showing that he’d lost. From then, it was back to the station, where Fowler asked both Hank and Connor to go over the events of the afternoon and fill out a pile of reports.

The office was empty, with most of the other agents having left for different missions - as it turned out, Markus’ message had already started to change the course of history, as the station had a record-breaking number of charges against androids filed up just in the last hour.

Hank walked towards his desk, and Connor followed behind. As soon as the lieutenant sat on his chair, however, he sunk his face into his hands, leaning against his knees, all color drained from his body. Connor could sense his heart rate rising. His chest heaved audibly, as if he was about to throw up, or break into tears, or both at once.

“What’s wrong, lieutenant?”

“I just held your heart in my fucking hands, Connor”, he mourned. “Give me a goddamn minute.”

They didn’t speak of it again - Connor didn’t think he should. He sat down at his own desk and filled out his reports, starting on Hank’s share too as the man recovered, though he was still able to get some work done before heading home. The next day, they met as if nothing had happened.

Connor had been built to endure absurd amounts of stress. It was expected to come with his profession, after all, and he really was the definition of a perfect agent: one that would not crack under pressure, and that would finish his mission no matter what. He’d died before, and lived with the notion that he was bound to die again.

But this was different.

The events of the tower seemed to sneak up on his memory when he least expected, filling him with dread: the cold floor pressed agains his face, his limbs failing as he pulled himself forward, the unbearable void in his chest - it was still inside him, all this fear, all this torment, flashes that his system could not delete, forever burned into his circuits.

And then, there was Hank.

Hank’s voice screaming his name, promising to save him; Hank’s arms, helping him up; Hank’s face, lost in thought, staring into the distance - Hank’s hand, slightly raised, holding on to the rescued pump, ready to plunge, his figure frozen and shattered, the last frame of a corrupted movie.

But mostly, there were Hank’s fingers, running through his hair, patient and safe; waiting for Connor to be ok again, as if they had all the time in the world.

CyberLife had fixed his hand that night, and they’d looked into the rest of his biocomponents, but there were no other signs of damage.

The next week, Connor returned to their headquarters, afraid they’d missed something - the rhythm of his pump was off, unsteady, erratic; it had to be an error. They ran the diagnostic, and the results declared everything was in order; if there’d been a malfunction, it had since been repaired.

Connor came back five days later - he knew what was wrong now. Due to its forceful removal and emergency re-insertion, the plugs that connected the pump to the mainframe had probably been damaged. It explained why sometimes he felt this sickening emptiness, as if the biocomponent just _wasn’t there;_ he was sure of it.

They ran the tests again, but nothing showed up; they replaced the device, just to be on the safe side.

As Connor left the building, he was overtaken by the same void, and he knew it’d been for nothing.

Those episodes grew more and more frequent. There were instances when he’d spend hours battling that feeling, running his own self-testing protocols, trying to convince himself that there was nothing wrong - but there it was, crushing him from the inside, threatening to shut him down for good.

There was nothing he could do to fix it, because no one saw a need to. It was part of his design.

As he once again found himself surrounded by the glowing halls of the Stratford Tower, he could feel his circuits sinking into desolation once more. He let himself slow down for a moment, trying to keep it together.

The only thing that could compare to the intensity of that ache was the memory of how he got rid of it the first time - Hank’s face staring at the hole where his pump should be, his hand diving into his chest, saving him from the dark.

Just thinking about it was like breathing again - but it didn’t last long.

Connor glanced at the lieutenant’s hands, swinging gently by the side of his body as they walked towards the reception. They were empty, but that seemed impossible; if Connor looked hard enough, he could almost see it.

For a brief moment, Hank had held Connor’s heart in his hands.

And to this day, it felt as if he was still holding it.

~

Though the massacre itself was eerily similar to the one back at the clinic, this one had a major difference, aside from scale:

There was a witness.

Hank and Connor followed an officer to the reception, but the lady stopped them before they got any closer. “She won’t come out from under there”, she said. “We tried to talk to her earlier, but she was still in shock.”

“It’s worth a shot”, shrugged Hank. “Wanna give it a go?” He turned towards Connor, who nodded in response.

He walked around the desk, lifting the plank that marked its entrance. Underneath the dark wood stood an SK200 android, crouched next to a body sitting on top of a pool of blue blood. The nametag on her chest read “Mavis”. She was holding her own legs, staring at the ground without blinking, and hid her face as Connor approached her.

“My name is Connor, I work for the DPD”, he said, but got no response. “I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions?”

The android was shaking now, burying her head into her knees; her LED spun rapidly, flashing a bright red.

“Please”, he tried. “It’d help us catch whoever is responsible.”

Mavis took a moment, but shifted her head to the side, staring at Connor with a single eye. “What do you want?”, she asked, her voice quivering.

“I want to know what happened. Can you help me?”

“He… He came inside”, she lifted her gaze, staring at the wall. “H-he shot… everyone… he shot-“ she looked to the left, her fingernails digging into her skin as she faced the corpse.

Connor scooted closer. “How did you survive?” He could feel her stress levels rising; he couldn’t afford to lose her now.

“I… he didn’t shoot me”, she turned to him. “He looked at me, he… I was the last one, and he said… h-he said-“ she sobbed, clenching her jaw, tears streaming down her eyes. “H-he… he s-said…”

“You don’t have to tell me.” Connor placed a hand on her shoulder - a risky move, but it brought them no harm; she seemed to appreciate it. “You just have to let me hear it”, he lifted his free hand, deactivating the texture of his skin. Mavis took it into her own, locking their arms together.

He saw her picking up a visitor badge from a drawer, handing it to the man waiting in front of the reception. He thanked her, walking towards the elevators - but he jumped to the ground once the shots rang out.

One through seventeen, an impossibly quick sequence - Mavis didn’t see them. She’d jumped down, shielding her head with her arms behind the desk. She looked to the side, where her colleague stood, but she was lying with her back against the wall, blood spreading through her uniform.

Connor felt grief, so much of it - they’d started working on the same day, Mavis and the other one, and they became instantly close. They’d been hired after the liberation, along with several others, but only the two of them had been placed at the reception. He felt the joy of several weeks of friendship condensed into a single second, followed by an equally strong burst of desolation; she was gone, she was gone, she was _gone._

She screamed, pressing down on her friend’s wounds, desperately calling for help, her own cries muffled out as the rest of the gallery descended into chaos. She kept on yelling, begging for someone, anyone, to please help, please, she couldn’t bear to see her go, she couldn’t take it, someone, please, please help-

But her friend was dead.

Mavis heard the gun clicking behind her. The android’s arm that held it pointed at her from over the desk, their face shining in white, their eyes empty of feeling. She was too scared to move.

The shooter’s finger let go of the trigger. They moved their arm back.

“ _Now you know how it feels._ ”

Their voice sounded out of tune; it was gargled and artificial, all filters being removed. It was as bare as the plastic that shaped their face - sleek, colorless, terrifying.

Connor gasped as he fell back. Mavis held on to her own arm, tucking it close to her chest.

“I’m… I’m so sorry”, Connor stuttered, but it was no use. He knew there was nothing he could do to help her. Mavis lowered her head once more, crying without a sound.

He walked away from the desk, joining Hank and the officer as she showed him the security footage. All cameras had been hacked except for the one above the main golden panels, which held the best view of the hall.

The android somehow managed to avoid every fleeing civilian, hitting only the Tower’s staff. If Mavis had ducked a millisecond later, she would’ve been hit like the rest. Connor looked over to where the desk remained, only now noticing the bullet that had lodged itself into the wall where the receptionist’s chest would've stood.

When he turned back to the video, the android was facing the camera.

The screen went black.

“What is _wrong_ with this creep?” growled Hank, thanking the officer and turning back to Connor. “Did you find anything?”

“I was able to recover the witness’ memories”, he stated, turning towards the reception, feeling a chilling shockwave run down his back. That’s where she lied, Mavis’ friend; they’d have to take Mavis away from her eventually. He could only hope she’d make it out from under the desk without self-destructing.

Hank was quiet, but his silence said a lot. Connor didn’t want to face him. He couldn’t meet the question in his eyes, the genuine interest in knowing if he was ok. He looked over to the rest of the gallery, trying to ignore the hollow feeling that hadn’t settled down since he’d first stepped into the Tower. “Should we take a look around?”

“…Sure.” The lieutenant moved towards a human body sprawled across the lounging chairs, the suede of the cushions stained irreversibly red.

The investigation itself was similar to their process at the clinic, only with more corpses to check. The rest of the people at the Tower had been ordered to stay where they were as the police conducted a search through the floors, but they returned empty-handed.

Connor hoped that the ride back to the station would be a loud one - he didn’t want to be left in the silence with nothing but his thoughts. Hank took the driver seat, pulling down his seatbelt and grabbing the steering wheel - but he didn’t turn the car on.

The man’s fingers tapped on the leather, his thumbnail scratching out the material from where it stood. Connor watched him, waiting for a reaction, hoping it wouldn’t be the question he’d avoided earlier.

“…Can you die, Connor?”

Hank was facing him now, his hands still stuck to the wheel. His brows were furrowed in anger, but his voice didn’t sound mad - Connor would’ve said he seemed almost scared, but he’d later convince himself that he was hearing things.

“You’ve watched me die.” The first deviant they ever caught together had shot him before self-destructing, back in November. He remembered how freaked out the lieutenant was upon seeing him walking back into the office the next day.

“But can you actually die?”

Connor looked down.

“I don’t know.”

“You can just keep coming back?”

“I don’t know. It’s not up to me.” He shook his head, looking at his own hands. “I will come back as long as CyberLife uploads my memories into a new vessel. I have no control over when that will stop happening.”

“If it’s that simple, how come you’re the only one who can do it? Can’t we do the same with the rest of the androids from today?”

“It’s not that easy; when an android is killed, most of their memory files become instantly corrupted. Even if you fix their damaged biocomponents, there’s practically no difference between them and a brand new model.”

“Then how come you’re not like that?”

“I have several memory backups, which are frequently uploaded to CyberLife’s network, and my physical hard drives have a failsafe that protects the data from being erased. It’s an experimental piece of technology meant to preserve evidence in case I’m deactivated before closing a case.”

“Can’t I just toss your mind into another random body, then?”

Connor shook his head again. “The original memory files of different models aren’t fully compatible with one another. You’d need to find a functional RK800 in order to successfully transfer all of my data, and they’re not commercially available.”

“But when they are, then-”

“They won’t be”, he cut him off. “I’m a prototype. The final version will be a different model.” He felt his chest growing hollow again; he looked out of the window, afraid that Hank could be somehow able to see the color of his LED.

“…Huh.” Hank faced the front panel again, rubbing the steering wheel with his thumbs. Connor watched them from the corner of his eye, his mind drifting back to the break room - Hank’s fingers gently soothing him back to life, a promise to save him; he felt both warm and sick inside.

The lieutenant started the car.

Connor rested his arm against the window, leaning his head onto it. Outside, it’d started to rain.

“Don’t you die on me.”

Connor looked at Hank, but he was still facing the front window. “…I’ll do my best”, he vowed, and his heart felt a twinge of pain.

Hank turned on the radio as they drove back to the station.


	4. Chapter 4

The natural distortion of Mavis’ memory made it impossible to read the shooter’s serial numbers, but Connor could recognize enough of the facial structure to conclude it belonged to an NT500: a model originally designed to replace teachers, but that found its real market as private homeschooling tutors as most actual classrooms proved too hard for a machine to control.

It wasn’t a particularly popular model, but CyberLife had managed to find a niche for it by advertising it to rich families, boasting about its advanced interactive teaching techniques and superior processing speeds when compared to cheaper multitasking models - in theory, it goes beyond just helping with homework: it is capable of learning virtually anything in order to pass on that knowledge to future generations.

As Connor searched through old Missing Android Reports, he could only find three examples listed for this model; he figured most families who could afford a machine like that were wealthy enough not to care if it went missing, choosing to buy a new one instead.

Out of the reported cases, two had been already closed: the first one had been spotted trying to cross the border and was turned in to the authorities, and the other had been found dead after the battle for Jericho.

The only open listing was for an android named Cassius, who’d been acquired by the Levisay family in order to tutor their son, who was bound to run his parents’ company in the future. The Levisays had made it big in the tech industry during the previous decade, partnering with CyberLife in the development of spare android parts in many occasions.

The report had been filled out in mid-October of the previous year, stating that the young Adam Levisay waited patiently to begin his studies as he did every morning, only his teacher never showed up. There were no signs of a break-in, and the security footage for the previous night had been deleted. It was just another deviancy case, lost among thousands of others, and Connor was certain that the family must’ve found a replacement in less than a day. Still, the Levisay heir must’ve been fond enough of the machine in order for his parents to have filled out a report.

Searching for other related cases, Connor found that this wasn’t the only disappearance that plagued the Levisays: on that same night, another android had also fled - a custom-made AX800 named Elena, built as a luxury caretaker for the couple’s toddler, Evelyn Levisay. A week later, she’d been shot for trespassing at a property downtown, but she’d fled the scene before being captured.

Connor shared his findings with the lieutenant.

“You think this could be it?”, asked the man, crossing his arms.

“It’s a starting point! No one has seen him since he went missing!”

Hank leaned closer to the monitor, staring at the android’s picture. “I haven’t seen this one before.”

“Most people haven’t, they’re not very widespread.”

“So he wouldn’t even have to change his face to disguise himself. He can just walk out of a crime scene looking like this and no one would notice.” He rested his back on his chair. “I gotta say, it’s oddly clever.”

“It doesn’t rule out the possibility that he’s modified his features, though.”

“Yeah, but still. What about the other one?”

“No other sightings reported after she got shot, and her model doesn’t match the ones we saw on camera. If they left together, they’re not together anymore.”

“Did you try reaching out to the family?”

“Not available for comment. I don’t think they care.”

“Yeah, no shit”, Hank scoffed. “When have rich people ever cared about anything?”

Connor smiled, mostly to show support. He hadn’t interacted with enough rich people to have an opinion on the subject - but he considered Hank an expert in caring, and he trusted the man’s judgement enough to validate his complaints.

“I still don’t understand why he would do it!” Connor stared at Cassius’ face on the screen; if he imagined it without the fair skin and the curly hair, he could almost picture the shooter’s expressionless stare turned directly to the camera - but again, he could probably do it to most androids if he tried. “Why pick those two places? What was he trying to accomplish?”

“If he was trying to freak me out, I’d say mission fucking successful”, Hank scoffed. “Did you find anything else on the people from the clinic?”

Connor shook his head. “Alex used to work at a hospital downtown, but was laid off along with the rest of the androids in November. He was offered his job back, but didn’t take it. April had been with the family for years, and Margaret spent her days working at the clinic with the mom before she retired. There’s no story here.”

“I’m still going over the Tower victims, but there’s nothing here either. A bunch of the new staff was hired on the same day to replace the androids that refused to work there again after the liberation, maybe…”

Connor felt suddenly light-headed. Hank didn’t need to tell him about the latest hiring wave - he remembered it, as if he’d lived through it himself. He saw himself in Mavis’ body once more, his hands covered in blood, pressing the wound on his friend’s chest…

“Connor?” Hank waved a hand over the android’s eyes. “Are you there?”

“Sorry, I…” He blinked, looking down, shaking his head slightly. “I was thinking.”

“Did you hear what I was saying?”

“About what?”

“Do you think our guy was targeting those new hires?”

“Why?”

Hank shrugged. “Mad he didn’t make the cut.”

It was a possibility, though Connor didn’t know why a teacher would like to work at the Stratford Tower - but then he realized it didn’t actually matter. Being made for something didn’t necessarily mean they enjoyed doing it. After the liberation, several androids went back to their original lines of work, but an equally large number decided to switch professions. In that sense, an NT500 would be a great addition to any team, thanks to their inherent ability to become experts on any given subject, even training others to possibly doing the same.

That full train of thought came to him only through great struggle. He wanted to do a better job, but he couldn’t - his mind felt fogged up, too concerned with grief that didn’t belong to him, the hollowness crushing through his chest again.

“Do you have the full list of the victim’s names?”

“Sure, I’ll send it over” Hank turned back to his computer. “We should be heading home soon, though.”

“Oh, I’m not going with you tonight” Connor lifted his hands apologetically. “I forgot to tell you, I have another maintenance check at CyberLife headquarters.”

“Didn’t you _just_ go there?”

“Just because you don’t trust doctors doesn’t mean I can’t”, he smiled, and Hank laughed. Connor felt a rush of energy surge through his body; he hadn’t been built to be funny, and most of his jokes fell flat. The sound of Hank’s laughter was still one of the best he’d ever heard, and it hit especially hard when it was directed at him.

“I can wait up, if you want.”

“No, that won’t be necessary. I’ll just meet you in the morning!”

“Alright.” Hank swung his chair to the side, crossing one leg on top of the other. Connor admired the man’s ability to make himself comfortable no matter where he stood. Just the idea of not sitting perfectly straight in front of his desk already made him feel like Fowler was about to issue out a warning.

Hank planted his elbow on the armrest, his hand now placed next to his ear, his pinky finger separated from the others, resting closer to his mouth. He stared at Connor, meeting the android’s eyes, filled with hesitation - Connor looked away.

“There’s nothing to worry about!” He turned his right side towards the exit, facing Hank with his left. “We’ll continue the investigation tomorrow!”

“Right”, grunted Hank; the android walked towards the door. “Connor!” The man’s voice was so naturally loud even a regular callout sounded like yelling; Connor’s name echoed through the walls, through his head, through his chest. He turned his left side around. “…Good luck out there.”

Connor smiled. “It’ll be fine!”, he repeated, and he didn’t believe it; and he knew Hank didn’t either.

~

CyberLife told Connor what they always did; Connor was so numb to the news he couldn’t even bring himself to care. He stepped onto the cab, typing out the house’s address.

There was an e-mail notification at the corner of his vision. He’d grown so used to ignoring those they were almost part of the scenery. He opened it up, mostly out of boredom, and then remembered he’d asked Hank to send him the final list of victims from the Stratford Tower shooting.

The names ran through his mind as he uploaded the file, along with other pieces of information such as their gender, age, model (if available), and occupation.

He knew what he was looking for, but that didn’t make it any easier. There were two secretaries working at the reception at the time of the shooting, except with Mavis having survived, only one other name would be listed.

Riley.

His body felt strangely cold. He could see her lying against the wall, her empty eyes lost in agony, her systems dull and functionless - her pain echoing in his own chest, dark and empty.

He typed a new set of coordinates onto the cab.

The park was vacant at night, but even during the day it wasn’t exactly crowded - the weeks had been getting warmer, but spring wasn’t at its full potential yet. The cold evening air was nothing compared to the chill of winter, but it could still be felt.

Connor walked through the playground, stopping at the benches that overlooked the river. He remembered how Hank had pointed a gun to his face there, so many months ago. He hadn’t been shot, but Connor wouldn’t put it past the man to pull the trigger if he’d pissed him off enough.

He stood on that same spot, this time turning away from the benches. The city lights glistened against the water, the clouds overhead revealing scattered patches of the starless sky. Connor opened his shirt one button at a time, staring at the horizon. His bare chest wouldn’t shiver like a human’s, but he could still feel the wind blowing against it.

With his index finger, he circled the seam between the hatch and his thirium pump.

And with a jolt, he pulled it out.

Angry warning signs flashed against his eyes, the countdown ticking in vivid red. Connor tried to stand straight, but his knees gave in, sending him elbow-first into the concrete. He stared at his hands, his eyes losing focus, his chest burning in hollow anguish.

He jammed the pump back in.

His systems sparkled back to normal, resetting and stabilizing. Connor’s inner clock said the operation had lasted 8.75 seconds, though it’d felt like an entire decade. He lifted up his head, and then his body along with it, once again facing the river.

He steadied himself, blinking slowly, letting the minutes drift by…

He took out his pump again - this time, he couldn’t take it. His head had hit the ground before the numbers even started ticking down. He painstakingly turned himself upwards, facing the sky, a mesh of greys and blacks glitching randomly across his vision.

He watched the clock flashing over his eyes, losing his sense of direction, his limbs growing numb as his other biocomponents shut down, a terrible storm ringing in his ears - he took it all in, recording every agonizing moment, every silent scream.

After 30 seconds, it became unbearable.

After 49 seconds, he placed the pump into its hatch.

Connor stayed down, the cold ground against his back, the heavy clouds rolling overhead; the biocomponent was back into its place, but he still felt his chest aching. The emptiness felt so deep it’d spread to the rest of his body. His arms laid to his side, weak and tired; his throat closed up in distress, his head too heavy for his neck.

He thought back to when he first felt it; the deviant running out of the room, his code too jumbled to function, his cries burning through his mouth as they echoed in the desolate hall. He could recall it perfectly, and multiply it by the amount of days he’d felt that same hollow pain, and go back to each of those instances just as easily.

He didn’t know where it came from - no one did.

Connor didn’t even bother getting up before removing his pump again.

He only made it to 37 seconds this time - how pathetic. He couldn’t even get _better_ at it. He cussed at his own incompetence as his vision went back to normal, taking twice as long than last time, the static in his ears only fading a full minute after that.

Again.

A cry escaped from his lips - a mistake. He wouldn’t make another sound.

Again.

He didn’t even wait for the glitching to stop.

Again.

At some point, the countdown stopped working.

Again.

Again.

Again.

His hand hovered above his chest, ready to strike once more. He told himself to do it. His own command rang louder and louder in his head.

He couldn’t do it. How _dare_ he say he couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t do it.

He sobbed, choking out the tears, turning to the side. His hand rested over the ground, feeling the concrete’s rough texture, the tiny grains scratching at his fingers - inside, he was nothing, and everything all at once.

The pain was so terrible he was past the point of feeling it. He looked back to the past months and concluded it’d always been there - there had never been a chance to escape it.

His mind drifted to the Tower, where Riley’s body once stood. She must’ve felt the same agony he did, slow and creeping. She must’ve known how it ached.

But Mavis; Mavis hurt most of all.

What would’ve happened if Hank hadn’t heard him that day? How long would it have taken him to find Connor’s body? How much of it would CyberLife deem worth recovering?

When he pushed his own pump back into his system, it felt different than when Hank did it. With Hank, there was a rush of warmth, a spark in a dark room, a safe haven; there were his hands, running through his hair, easy and understanding, _forgiving._

With him, there was only a reminder that this moment was gone.

What would Hank do if he’d found Connor like this now? It was one thing to save someone from a deviant, but there was no threat on that park; no reason for the pain to be there.

Connor placed his hand over the hole in his chest once more, tentatively - but he didn’t have the strength to tell himself to do it. He felt exhausted beyond comprehension.

Instead, he circled the pump with his fingers again, picturing what it would be like to take it out, the scene coming to him just as terribly as the real thing would.

He liked it better when his heart was gone.

That way, he didn’t have to wonder why it hurt.

That way, there was still a chance Hank would come for him.

Even if he hadn’t been called, he’d rush through the playground, kneeling next to the benches; he’d take Connor into his arms again, and promise he’d be ok; and they could stay like that, even if just for a moment.

In his anguish, Connor smiled; sick, and twisted, and wrong. He should get up eventually, but he still had until the next morning.

For now, he could pretend he had any right to rest.


	5. Chapter 5

“I don’t think I asked you, how’d it go at CyberLife?” Hank’s fingers tapped playfully on the desk as he sat down, leaning closer to the monitor.

“All systems clear”, came Connor’s reply. In reality, Hank had asked him already, right on the following morning - but only with his eyes. The man’s use of his own voice showed he didn’t believe Connor’s first answer, and wouldn’t take his second one either, no matter how many times the android had rehearsed it. Still, he tried. “I told you, there was nothing to worry about!” Across from him, the man showed no reaction. “I was reviewing the list you sent me, and I believe to have found something!”

“Shoot.”

“I was thinking about the similarities between the victims, specifically concerning the idea that they were mostly recent hires.” He pulled up their files onto his screen. “Out of the seventeen employees from Stratford Tower, three were from maintenance, two worked in security, four were part of the cleaning staff-“

“I know what their jobs are! Get to the point.”

“They all came from different backgrounds, except for two of them: the GJ500 from security, and the ML200 at the reception.” He couldn’t bring himself to say Riley’s name out loud; his chest grew heavy just by thinking about it. “They used to work on the same neighborhood prior to November, which is also where Alex’s hospital was located!”

“So that Cassius guy is targeting people from there?”

“I believe there is a strong possibility he’s been doing so!”

“Isn’t it downtown, though?” Hank raised an eyebrow; skeptical, yet intrigued. “A ton of androids must’ve worked there around that time. What makes those three any special?”

“I’m not entirely sure. I still haven’t found the true connection between them.” Connor opened up another file, sending a copy to Hank’s computer. “I was able to access last year’s records from several companies located around that region. I can try tracking down the androids listed and seeing where they ended up. It could be a way of anticipating Cassius’ next move!”

“Jesus, Connor.” Hank scrolled down the endless list, stopping here and there. “They better be paying you overtime for this!” The corner of Hank’s mouth twitched briefly into a smile as he said it; Connor understood it was a compliment.

“I’m just trying to get to the bottom of it”, he replied; something in his code involved a great deal of modesty, as if he couldn’t feel proud of achieving anything that wasn’t absolute success. Hank had been trying to change that mindset of his since last year, but Connor still felt like being praised by him was somehow more than he deserved.

An agent rushed past their desks, apologizing as she nearly tripped on Hank’s foot. Connor followed her trail to the break room, where a dozen other workers were gathered. He pointed at the commotion with his head. “What’s going on?”

Hank walked towards it, Connor following close behind. The officers were all facing the television near the corner, where the KNC morning show was playing.

A blonde reporter sat at the very edge of a sleek white chair, the kind that looks modern and comfortable but that actually makes it impossible to find a good resting position. Across from her, sprawled across an identical seat, was a white boy with an outfit composed of so many clashing colors he was throwing off the monitor’s contrast balance.

“…as Tyler here was barely able to escape from the machine’s vicious attacks. Let’s hear from the star himself!”, the lady announced, turning to the boy. “Can you describe the events that took place this morning?”

“I was heading to Sun Hut Max to pick up some _sick_ shades! You know KatyBabe’s collection is _dropping_ today, and and your boy had to be _first_ in line to cop the most _snazzing_ fit for the Cory Countdown!” His voice was squeaky and enthusiastic, just as subtle as his wardrobe. “So I was up there _slamming_ that morning vlog, you know how it is, hahaha!” He waved his fingers at the camera in some kind of backwards hangloose. “V-Spark slash TylerSnap, shoutout to my Snappers out there watching!” he winked at the camera.

“This better end in tragedy for him”, mumbled Hank.

The lady smiled at the boy. “Yes, Tyler, thank you, but if we could please go back to the-“

“ _Yeesh_ , lady, _chillax!_ I was gonna _get there_!” He changed his position on the chair, somehow finding an even gaudier way to sit. “I was up there _vlogging_ , just straight up _vibing_ , when this _machine_ comes up to me like _Yo! Give me you bleeping phone, you bleeping bleep!_ ” Connor wondered if he actually spoke like that, or if someone was threatening him behind the camera. “And I was all like, _bleep off, dude! Don’t come popping on my jazz!_ ”

“Yes, thank you, and once again,” the woman turned to the camera, “dear viewers, thousands of people from all over the world watched this event unfold in real time, as Tyler livestreamed it on his V-Spark channel. Let’s take a look:”

The news program cut to a video filmed in portrait mode, as Tyler held the phone above his head while walking through the street, cheering about how he was on his way to buy an exclusive pair of sunglasses, his voice sounding naturally overproduced.

Suddenly, the frame shakes violently as the phone falls to the ground, Tyler’s screams of “ _Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!_ ” playing out as he bends down to pick it up - and once the camera is stable again, it points towards an android with no skin.

“Lieutenant, look!”, Connor nudged Hank with his arm, as the man had lost interest about three “bleeps” ago.

The android looked as if he was ready to pounce, holding his hands up into fists. Tyler’s narration screeched in the background. “You wanna come at me, bro? You wanna bleeping go?” The android bounced slightly on his own feet, as if questioning the possibility. “You wanna take my bleeping phone? You wanna come at me? You can’t stop the Snapper Nation, bro!” The android fled into the end of the block, Tyler’s last remark of “Yeah, that’s what I thought” playing as he flipped the phone back to his own face.

The lady appeared onscreen again, looking way more worried than the situation called for. “This comes as a shocking revelation as androids continue to gain more and more space within our city, especially after the recent shootings. The deviancy cases left a permanent mark in our memories, and it’s events such as these that remind us of why we shouldn’t let our guard down.”

“Why are we watching this crap?” Hank shifted his eyes back to the corridor.

“This could be our next lead!” Connor was still listening to the news report, but the woman just kept repeating the same sensationalist talking points.

“What, so the creep’s just gonna steal phones from clowns on the street? You know, I’m starting to think he has a point.” Connor gave him a look. “Kidding! Imma head back to the desk, let me know if something else happens.”

But before Hank could get very far, Fowler came marching from the opposite direction with a miserable expression.

“You’re gonna like this one just as much as I do, Anderson.”

~

Hank had tried screaming, he’d tried arguing, he’d pulled every rank he could, called in favors he didn’t have - but Fowler wouldn’t back down.

“I can’t get you out of this one. Believe me, I would if I could!” He raised his hands up. “But if I turn this down, we’re going to have a PR nightmare on our hands!”

“I am _not_ babysitting that brat!”

“For the last time, it’s not babysitting! His father just wants you to follow him around while he goes out shopping for a couple of hours! It’s purely for show! You have a kid who’s just been attacked by an android right after the Tower massacre, everyone’s on edge! It’d be good to see the man who headed the deviancy investigation working to stop these attacks from happening!”

“Funny you should mention the Tower incident, since we’re _still solving it!_ ”

“And you still can! It’ll just be for a few days!”

Hank paced around Fowler’s office, running his hands through his face. “What have I done to deserve this? Tell me.”

“You’re too good at your job.”

Hank nearly launched himself at the captain.

An hour later, Connor followed Hank into the cab sent by V-Spark, the online streaming platform organizing the partnership. Connor had taken a moment to look up the boy from the newscast: Tyler Griffin, known on the internet as TylerSnap, became famous for his kid-friendly content, live-vlogging pretty much every aspect of his life to over 20 million followers, posting daily edited videos with his highlights from the past 24 hours.

As the cab pulled up to a mansion outside the city, he recognized it from a few of Tyler’s videos he’d been able to watch - though he never made it past the 2 minute mark. He’d expected it to look as loud and colorful as the boy’s usual outfits, but instead it felt oddly barren; at best, you’d see a single piece of furniture it the background of every other shot. From the outside, it looked like several glass cubes placed on top of each other.

They were welcomed inside by a human assistant, who took them to a secluded room at the end of a large empty hall. Unlike the rest of the house, this room had no windows; it had a couch, where Connor sat by Hank’s side, and two armchairs. Tyler found himself sprawled over the one on the left, while an older man took the one on the right, writing something with a stylus onto a tablet.

Connor recognized the gentleman as Aiden Griffin, Tyler’s father and owner of a large telecommunications company overseas. With his tight grey suit and straight posture, he and his son looked like creatures from different galaxies.

“So, uh”, Hank started, scratching his knees with his arms outstretched, looking around the painfully white walls. “We’re with the DPD, I’m Lieutenant Anderson and this-“

“Yeah, I know who you are”, snarled Tyler. “Listen up peeps, here’s the _sitch._ After that major _dickhead_ tried to steal my phone, I’m not taking any fucking chances. If I’m out and about, you _bitches_ are coming with me.”

“Oh? So it’s old enough to swear?” Hank laughed dryly, shortly glancing at Connor - but the android was still shocked to find out the boy apparently talked like that out of his own volition.

“I’m _trying_ not to get _demonetized_ , _fuckface!_ But I’m not streaming _now,_ dumbass! _”_ Connor recalled an article he’d read from over six years ago, back when Tyler was starting to gain notoriety. In his early vlogging days, he had a much darker approach, playing mostly violent videogames on camera. It was apparently enough to get him invited to a talk show to discuss his growing success, but as the program went live, Tyler said a racial slur so horrific the newspaper wouldn’t dare tell you which one it was. After the wave of backlash that followed, Tyler had rebranded into TylerSnap, making content for kids instead.

Hank’s shoulders tensed up. “Look, I don’t know how much protection you think you need, but-“

“I don’t need to be protected by _you_!”

“You were the one who called us here!”

“You shall accompany my son throughout some of his daily escapades as he ventures into town to purchase various fashion items”, Mr. Griffin intervened without glancing up from his tablet. “Your job demands that you are seen in the background of Tyler’s vlogs, though you are forbidden from speaking to him unless spoken to. We have a team of highly trained bodyguards ready to intervene shall any future threats to Tyler’s wellbeing occur.”

“So it’s just for show?”

“Well, _duh._ They just wanna act like droids are good or _whatevies._ ” Tyler waved his hands dismissively, but then faced Connor directly, suddenly sounding a lot less cheerful: “But we all know what you really are.”

“Watch it!” Hank was sitting at the edge of the sofa, almost jumping out.

“Where’s the _lie,_ bro? You saw that _plastic-ass creep_ try to steal my Stream Machine! Like we’re _not_ gonna say androids murdered a bunch of people at the Tower? Get fucked. They’re all the _same_ , and they’re all better off _gone._ ”

“I don’t see your bodyguards around, kid”, Hank growled as he leaned forward. “Are you sure you want to pick this fight?”

“That won’t be necessary.” Mr. Griffin put down his device, looking Hank in the eye for the first time - but his gaze quickly shifted towards Connor. “Do you understand your assignment?”

“Yes”, Connor nodded; he saw it now. It wasn’t about Hank at all.

“Then we are done. You may leave.”

“I better get _hella_ subs for this”, Tyler shifted on the chair again, somehow managing to sit horizontally.

“Oh, I’m sure you will!” Connor stood up, adjusting his tie and walking towards the exit. “See you tomorrow, Barney!”

Tyler spun up from his chair, his skin growing as pink as the stripes on his pants. Connor held the door open for Hank, closing it behind them just as the boy started screaming.

“What was that all about?”

“Tyler is the vlogger’s middle name”, smiled Connor. “He _hates_ his first name, apparently. Paid a lot to have it erased completely from the internet.” He shrugged. “Guess he should’ve paid more!”

“And you found out about this…?”

“It is important to conduct a thorough research on any person or institution we are made to work with.” He walked away from the office through the empty room, turning his head back to shoot Hank one last look. “We wouldn’t want to end up on the wrong side of history, would we?”

“…You’re a marvel of technology.” Hank jogged slightly to catch up; it gave Connor enough time to hide his flustered grin. “If I had to spend another minute with that kid I would’ve strangled him with that purple scarf.”

“I was surprised to see that so many people watch his content voluntarily.”

“Remind me to never use the internet again.”

Another cab was sent to take them back to the station, though they’d soon be heading home from there. Connor was glad the radio wasn’t on; just watching snippets of Tyler’s video was enough noise for one day.

“Hey.” Hank’s voice sounded strangely heavy; Connor turned to face him, realizing his eyes carried the same weight. “That stuff Tyler said…”

“He has made quite the name for himself by saying horrible things. This is no different.” He looked out into the road once more. It was easier to just be logical about this.

“I just wanted you to know… I think they’re horrible too.”

“I _know_ , Hank.” Connor smiled at the man; there wasn’t a moment where he’d ever questioned it.

For a second, he thought about it - Hank’s hand was resting near his legs, over the carseat; it’d be so easy to take it into his own. If he could just reach out, then-

Hank moved that same hand, placing it over Connor’s shoulder, giving it a friendly shake; and then he pulled it away, crossing his arms in front of his chest, turning his face to the window at his side - though it wasn’t enough to hide his smile.

Connor felt his chest light up like a forest fire - and when it was gone, he felt twice as cold.


	6. Chapter 6

Tyler’s mid-stream attack had managed to become even more widespread than the Stratford Tower massacre: every website and news outlet played the footage repeatedly, attempting to pick it apart but always landing on the same shallow readings.

Connor was responsible for quite a few of the viewing numbers: he’d watched the video over a hundred times now, still questioning whether it was real. The timing was a little too convenient, and Tyler really had gained a total of 101.912 new subscribers in the span of 24 hours, so perhaps it was nothing but a marketing strategy; but the android in the video was undeniably Cassius, and, judging by his previous behavior, if the footage had survived, it was because he wanted it to be seen.

There was no link between the shooter and the Griffins, or the company they owned - at least, none that Connor could find. The family used to have a few android workers in the past, but they were all fired after the events of last November, and they’d since been replaced with human equivalents. The Griffins had no connections to the Levisays either, and there was no reason to believe Cassius and Tyler had ever met before the events of the previous morning.

It was unclear when the boy was going to summon Connor and Hank, exactly. The android kept an eye on his stream just in case, seeing if he had any intention of leaving the house, but he’d announced he’d be staying in for the day playing the latest edition of Baker Battles, a competitive pastry-making videogame. It was probably a safety measure. Hank sighed in relief when he heard the news.

They continued to work on the shooting cases, looking up more information about the victims, but no other connections had appeared so far. Connor attempted to track down the androids that used to work downtown, but many of them hadn’t been accounted for since the liberation - probably because they wanted a fresh start, though deactivation was also a possibility.

When they got in the car that night, Hank claimed he needed to “load up on some heavy stuff before they make me talk to that rainbow prick again”, so he played Knights at the Black Death at full volume, hopelessly trying to sing louder than the main vocalist for the full length of the ride.

Connor made him dinner as Hank picked something to watch, settling on a horror mini-series. “There’s only three episodes, we’ll watch the first two now and leave the last one for tomorrow”, he said as the android took his usual place on the couch. “It’s nice to know we’ll have something to look forward to. Well, unless the show’s trash.”

But it was, Connor decided, way above average: it was beautifully shot, the jumpscares never felt gratuitous, and even the child actors did a decent job; but his biggest criteria was how quickly Hank became interested in the plot, and how he skipped the intro sequence on the second episode to get to the story faster. As the youngest child discovered his father’s body hanging from the chandelier at the dining hall, the screen faded to black with the credits while he screamed, and Hank turned off the TV as fast as he could, before he gave in and finished the series in one sitting.

“That’s it, I’m not sleeping tonight”, he joked. “At least you can delete that demon thing from your memory!”

“I could, but it would make the finale very hard to follow.”

“If I know you, you’ll just read about what you missed online and then tell me how it ends.” He got up, stretching his arms. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to dream about that thing ripping Tyler’s guts open.”

“I thought you said you wouldn’t sleep”, quipped the android; he tried not to sound too happy, even though the thought of Hank choosing to go to bed at a reasonable hour made him prouder than he should feel.

“The idea sounds a lot more inviting when it involves a demon eating your enemies.” He turned to Connor. “What about you, should I leave a light on?”

“It would be a waste of energy.”

“Do androids even have nightmares?”

“Meeting Tyler tomorrow sounds like one.”

“Don’t remind me”, he shuddered. “You can sleep on my bed tonight if you feel too scared.”

Connor blinked.

“It’s a joke - I forgot you guys don’t have childhoods”, he grinned, walking towards the corridor. “Good night, Connor.”

“Good night.”

Sumo ran from behind the couch and sat on Connor’s lap before he had time to stand up. The android scratched his head until he was sure Hank had fallen asleep. He then pushed the dog out, washing the remaining dishes at the kitchen sink, his eyes drifting to the window.

It was dark out; he couldn’t see much aside from his own image, reflected against the shiny surface. He remembered the glass smashing against his arm, poking at his skin when he fell onto the shards, stumbling inside the house.

He remembered the gun on the floor.

He dried the plates with a dishcloth, putting everything back in its place - and then he turned off the lights and stepped into the backyard.

There wasn’t a lot of space between the kitchen door and the neighboring fence, and the area was covered in unkempt grass. He looked up at the sky, the massive clouds stacked messily on top of each other; it wouldn’t rain that night, but it also wouldn’t be long until the day it did.

He took off his tie, setting it near the doorstep, and slowly opened up his shirt. He paced himself, collecting his thoughts, ordering his own body not to make a noise. He summoned his courage, and yelled inside at himself for taking so long to do it.

He yanked out his pump, falling to his knees.

43 seconds. He should’ve gone for more.

He pulled it out again. 51 seconds. He was learning.

The void in his chest hurt his every circuit. It no longer mattered if his heart was in or out.

28 seconds. Absolutely unacceptable. He’d never get better at this pace. He needed to get over it.

47 seconds. The hollowness was there to stay. He had to learn to bear it.

13 seconds. He couldn’t. He couldn’t. He couldn’t.

He had to.

He had to.


	7. Chapter 7

Tyler’s car pulled up next to the station. The boy had painted his hair blue, and was under the impression that a neon-green plastic jacket and purple yoga pants were the best way to show it off. “Get in losers, we’re going shopping!”, he yelled, rolling down the window.

“You didn’t even watch the fucking movie”, Hank snapped, swinging the door open and smashing it closed after getting inside. The promise he’d made to Fowler to be nice to the kid had lasted exactly 5.13 seconds - twice as long as Connor had expected.

The vehicle itself had two long benches, one facing the other. Tyler’s posture was so disheveled he filled an entire row. “Let’s get this straight, _fuck-os_.” He pulled a phone out of his pocket. “The _second_ I start streaming, if you say a _single fucking swear_ , I will have you fired”, he pointed at the lieutenant, and then tilted his head towards Connor, “and this one _dismembered.”_

“Are you streaming now?”

“Uh, _no_?” Tyler seemed offended he’d even ask. “We go live in three, two-“

“Go fuck yourself.”

“What is _up_ , Snapper Nation, it’cha boy,” Tyler cheered at the camera, shooting Hank a deadly stare through the corner of his eye, “out to get some _mad-slamming fits_! They tried to stop the Cory Countdown, but you know something this _bleeping chasmic_ can’t! Be! Stopped! That’s right, if you aren’t subscribed, make sure to hit the-“

Connor tuned out the rest of the boy’s monologue; Hank was biting his own fist as he stared out the window.

They drove up to a store that looked like a replica of Tyler’s house, only in a smaller scale, and filled with what Connor assumed were exotic birds - but when they walked through the glass doors, he realized they were incredibly colorful clothing items.

“-And we’re _back_ at it again at Summer Violet, you guys know how much I love this place, because only the real Snappers know that Summer Violet _never! Dissa! Points!_ Look at yall’s _baller_ choices! _”_ He spun around showcasing the racks filled with clashing patterns.

“What the fuck is he talking about?”, Hank whispered to Connor.

“Oh, I actually know that one! You see, every year, there is another vlogger who-“

“ _Yeeee!”_ Tyler screamed so high Connor worried the glass would shatter. “We’re off to the first _vote_ of the day, you can see it on the screen right now, vote _bling_ or _coats_ right at the bottom of the screen, make sure to _smash_ that vote right in there!” He pulled the camera away from his face, turning to Hank and Connor and mouthing _follow me_.

Apparently, “coats” won, because Tyler moved towards a section of the store filled with them. Connor noticed that, aside from two men placed near the entrance, which he assumed were the vlogger’s bodyguards, they were the only people at the store - Tyler probably had reserved it for this event.

“Is he stripping for them or what?”, Hank whispered again as the boy took off his coat.

“The Cory Countdown is a streaming event he hosts where viewers can vote on what item of clothing he’s going to buy”, Connor explained. “It’s supposed to last five days, but on Monday he was stopped by Cassius, and yesterday he stayed home.”

“You know too much about him.”

Connor was about to explain he’d read up on the subject ahead of time because he’d figured that’s what Tyler would be doing, since he always held this event around this time of the year, but the vlogger had turned around to face them, and was mouthing furiously for them to _shut up_.

The shopping spree lasted for about four hours. The viewers ended up picking a faux-fur orange coat, which Tyler would not stop calling “furry-licious”; “Pants” won the next vote, and Connor was relieved to see that the boy did not, in fact, get down to his underwear in front of the camera, choosing instead to set his phone next to the dressing room and only open up the curtains once he was fully dressed. The chat settled on a pair of leggings made of a metallic material that shifted between green and indigo depending on the angle of the light. “Bling” was the final vote, and Tyler ended up with a pair of sunglasses, which Connor assumed would’ve been the result of the polls if he hadn’t been attacked on Monday.

He walked out of the store without paying, but there was no one to validate his purchase, and the amount of times he’d screamed the store name and praised its wide selection of items was probably worth to the establishment way more money than any of their jacket racks combined.

The boy took them back to the station, but Fowler gave them the rest of the day off, saying something about how they’d already suffered enough. Posts praising the DPD’s efforts were already circulating, along with several screenshots of Connor and Hank standing in the background of Tyler’s streams. Fowler asked Hank to maybe look less miserable next time, but the lieutenant told him to shove it.

More Knights of the Black Death blasted through the speakers on the ride home, and Hank slumped onto the couch as soon as he’d stepped inside.

“If that’s the kind of thing kids are watching nowadays, I really don’t want to think about the future”, he grumbled, his face buried on the cushions.

“I sincerely wonder if most of his viewers are colorblind.” Connor was the sole target of Sumo’s love now, with his owner incapacitated. “Would you like to finish the series? I promise you I don’t know how it ends.”

Hank mumbled something that Connor understood as a “yes”. He closed the curtains, blocking off the last bits of light from the outside, though it wouldn’t take long for the sun to set. Hank picked himself up and shifted to the right side of the couch while Connor turned on the TV, pressing Play as he sat down.

The last episode was definitely the best. The family members were killed off one by one, each death more violent than the last, and the soundtrack did a wonderful job building up the tension. As the demon finished devouring what remained of the mother’s body, it took the shape of the quiet realtor that had sold her the house at the start of the show, a plot twist that caught Connor completely off guard, and that made Hank scream a hearty “mother _fucker_!” as the credits started to roll.

Connor logged on to a media-rating website and gave the series a solid 10/10.

“Now that’s some good shit!” Hank took the control and started browsing the suggested titles, all sounding equally horrific. “I’m still up for more. You?” Connor nodded. “Hang on, I’m making us some popcorn.”

Connor thought of saying something about the chemicals found in microwave popcorn, or how he knew Hank’s use of the word “us” was really an excuse to eat the entire bag on his own, but he let it go. The truth was he was having way too much fun.

The plot summary for the movie didn’t mention ghosts, but the cover heavily implied they would be involved - and sure enough, as soon as the four teenagers entered the abandoned house down the hill, strange wailing noises started coming from the attic. This one had way less gore, but the cgi on the ghost was surprisingly convincing, and one of the jumpscares even managed to get a knee jolt from Hank.

“Should we keep going? I could stay here all night!” Hank sounded somewhat hyped; the effect of that last death scene was still wearing off.

“Let’s do one more, and then we stop.” There was some truth to the lieutenant’s strategy; overindulging on dark content was a great way of cleansing the mind after a full day of Tyler.

The next movie seemed to be more suspense than horror: the young couple spent so much time locked in a mutually abusive cycle of guilt-tripping and gaslighting that by the end of the first hour Connor no longer knew what had actually happened, and by the second hour he was convinced the woman had been dead all along.

“Bullshit, you saw the picture on the mantlepiece!” Hank argued as the turned the TV off, pulling his feet up on the middle cushion and resting his back on the sofa’s arm. “It’s the guy who was dead! The car crash killed him.”

“The crash didn’t happen!”, Connor rebutted. “He wakes up at home right after that scene! It was just him picturing what he wanted to happen!”

“Then how come he's seen walking with a limp for the rest of the film?”

“He had the limp since the beginning! It’s just that you always saw him sitting down! Or… Was the scene at the supermarket before or after the crash?”

“Before.”

“Oh. Then… I don’t care, she’s still dead for me!”

Hank crossed his arms, a smug look on his face. “Well, well, well. Looks like the _robot_ can’t understand _art!_ ”

“I _can_ , I just need to give it more thought!” He giggled, bringing his legs over the cushion, shifting to the side so he could face Hank.

“Yeah, it’s a thinker. It’ll still be playing in my head while I try to sleep.”

“I’m sure you’ll enlighten me with your conclusions tomorrow.”

“Yeah…” he looked down, suddenly coming off a lot more somber. He met the android’s eyes once more. “Do you dream, Connor?” This time, it was a real question.

“I don’t actually sleep.”

“Yeah, but you do that freaky standby thing. Just sit down with your eyes closed. What’s going through your head then?”

“…Nothing’s supposed to go through it. That’s the point.”

“Wow”, he chucked. “You guys really are the superior race.”

Connor looked away. There was a book someone had written in the previous century. Its title was “Do androids dream of electric sheep?”, a question that every android in the country must’ve answered at least five different times, with the person asking it laughing like they were the first ones to ever think of that joke. He’d read the book once, concluding the best part really was the title.

“…What are your dreams like?” Connor asked. Their eyes met once again, but Hank moved his to the side.

“Bad.”

Connor knew many causes of bad dreams: there was substance abuse, certain kinds of medication, too much greasy food - or, ironically, not enough sleep. There were other factors, like stress, trauma, and anxiety; but they were all far too human for him to understand.

Nothing is supposed to go through an android’s mind when they’re on standby, but Connor came to understand this didn’t always work in practice.

Lately, reaching standby mode was actually his biggest challenge: every time he tried to do it, his mind was overtaken by recalled data, and the thoughts would run for several minutes before he managed to shut them down.

Sometimes, they were of Stratford Tower.

Other times, they were of drunken Russian roulette.

Once he finally entered standby, it wasn’t uncommon for his program to reactivate itself, again thanks to those same memory files - and they were so sudden and so intense Connor believed they were the present.

Was that the definition of a nightmare? He thought that in order for it to count as one, it had to be something new, something made-up. It’d already been proven that he had an imagination, but it didn’t seem to run on those occasions.

At CyberLife, the diagnostic protocols said there was nothing wrong with his standby program - so he figured that’s the way it was supposed to be from now on.

“You should sleep”, he said. “It’s getting late.”

“Do you know what a sleepover is, Connor?” Hank’s voice sounded distant. “I know you’ve never had one, but do you at least know it?”

“I am familiar with the concept, yes.”

“At some point, they tell you to stop having them. Well, not _tell-you_ tell-you, but you just stop - like you stop climbing into your parents’ bed when you have a bad dream.” He kept looking down; Connor felt he was talking more to himself than anyone else. “And they tell you that’s just the way things are, and that you have to get used to it.”

Connor felt his chest growing empty again; his hand hovered above it almost instinctively. “And did you?”

“…We should get up earlier next morning.” Hank threw his legs to the side, getting up from the couch. “If we get to the station before that little brat shows up, we might be able to get some work done.”

Connor nodded.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He moved to the corridor. “Good night, Connor.”

“Good night.”

The shower turned on, then off; the light traveled from the bathroom, to the hallway, to the bedroom, and then it was out.

Connor waited in the dark, his hand placed over his pump.

He had to get better at it. He had to.

Tears streamed from his eyes, his shoulders shook quietly. He had to, he had to, he had to.

His fingers quivered in terror. He closed them into a fist, burying it between his chest and his knees as he curled onto his own body. He hated himself for not doing it; he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

He wished he’d never been given a heart at all.


	8. Chapter 8

Someone had written a fluff piece on “android x human solidarity”: it included heartwarming gifs of a human girl and an android kid playing together, updates on the collab album between human band Never Forever and android band Here4u, and video collages of all the rights androids had been granted during the past month - but the star of the piece was TylerSnap, with several paragraphs detailing the work done by DPD’s android prototype in ensuring the vlogger faced no other attacks, standing as a representation of the force's commitment to keeping the city safe.

But the reason why someone had printed out the article and pasted it in the break room was because of how funny Hank looked on the screenshots they used.

“I swear this case is gonna age me 10 years”, grumbled the lieutenant as someone joked about the news piece while walking past his desk. “Any chance the kid’s cancelling on us today?”

“I seriously doubt it”, started Connor, updating the boy’s streaming page. “He has gained over 300 thousand subscribers since Monday, and he’s only halfway through his Cory Countdown. He needs to be done shopping before CoryFest on Friday.”

“I’ll bite: what’s CoryFest?”

“Fellow local V-Spark streamer Cory Sunshine has been hosting a party for other content creators every spring for the past 5 years. It’s all they seem to talk about.” He opened up Cory’s website on his monitor, pointing at the guest list. “Last year she had over 50 vloggers involved, and she’s planning on doubling the number for this edition.”

“I swear none of these people are real.” Hank moved over to Connor’s side, staring at the webpage. “What’s so special about this party anyway?”

“It’s a great opportunity for these creators to promote each other’s work. Last year, the streamers that were invited saw a 10% increase in viwership. I can show you some of the archived streams from that time, if you’d like!”

“If you ever do that to me I’ll make you eat this monitor.”

Connor laughed. Even though he believed in the value of research, he had to admit he’d gone a little overboard with this case. Still, something about the lives of these internet personalities was inherently fascinating, like studying a different species altogether. “Last year, they hired a band to play a live concert”, he kept talking, knowing Hank would only grow more annoyed, finding way too much joy in seeing how far he could push him. “This year, they’re getting a team of juggling bartenders!” He pulled up the videos Cory had embedded on her page; a man took a full minute to pour gin into a cup thanks to how wildly he was spinning the bottle in the air.

“These kids are old enough to drink?”

“Tyler’s 25.”

“What the fuck.”

Connor grinned. “She goes all out with this event. The guest list is freakishly exclusive! The invitation itself is encrypted, and generates an exclusive QR code when presented to the bouncers at the entrance.” He was almost embarrassed at how much he knew about this party, but the thought of getting Hank to tease him about it made him smile. He glanced at the lieutenant, expecting a reaction - but Hank had his eyes fixed on the computer.

“These circus guys, are they all human?”

“The juggling bartenders? I don’t know.” Connor made a quick search. “Their official page says they hire both humans and androids, why?”

“Out of those androids, any chance one of them was hired recently?”

“Where are you getting at?”

“Why else would Cassius have tried to steal Tyler’s phone?” Hank turned to him. “It’s not about the kid, it’s about this weird party thing!”

“You think he’s trying to crash it?”

“Not just crash it: he’s out to get someone in the staff.”

Connor didn’t see it at first - but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. It would explain the attack, and the android’s stunned reaction upon failing. The fact that it was being livestreamed was enough to justify why the footage had survived: he didn’t have a chance to destroy it. Tyler openly broadcast his outfit choices, so impersonating him would be easy. The vlogger’s phone would give Cassius access to the QR code, allowing him to infiltrate the party.

After some investigating, Connor had managed to see the list of employees for the bartending company - and sure enough, one of its android members, an SP600, was hired in January; the same model that used to work at a bar downtown until last November.

Tyler’s car pulled up to the station shortly after, but Hank was too tense to mess with him. The stakes to this bodyguard arrangement felt much higher than before. “Shoes” won the vote, leading them to a trendy store filled to the roof with platform boots, each more colorful than the next.

Once again, they found themselves alone, safe for the two bodyguards planted near the door. Tyler picked up pair after pair of flamboyant footwear, tossing the discarded ones into a corner, _yass-_ ing and _bleep_ -ing enthusiastically at his phone every time the chat narrowed down the selection.

Connor was relieved this part of the outfit didn’t involve the vlogger hiding behind the curtains of a dressing room - for once, he actually wanted to keep an eye on him. When his attention drifted from Tyler, it landed onto Hank, sitting as though ready to pounce, his leg bouncing on the floor.

He ran the scenario in his mind, furtively. Hank looked so worried about the status of their mission he wouldn’t even think about it. He did it to Connor sometimes, when he started fidgeting too hard - a single hand, cautiously settled; a request to take a moment, and the permission to do so. He’d forget it as soon as they stepped out of the store.

How Connor worried, sometimes - worried for Hank’s worry. The void in his chest grew colder. A hand placed on Hank's leg; it wouldn't hurt to try.

He didn’t move.

This shopping trip only took 2 hours until the stream reached a conclusion. Tyler walked out of the store wearing a pair of pink platform heels with golden zebra stripes, and not a shred of common sense.

Back at the station, Connor contacted the store from the previous day, requesting a list of the people who bought any of the items that the vlogger had been assigned. Summer Violet had, regrettably, re-named their orange coat “Furry-licious”, and Connor baffled at the kind of influence that could make this happen, as well as what it was being used for.

Out of all buyers, he was surprised to see a lot of them were actually androids - he wondered if they followed Tyler’s streams out of true interest or just morbid curiosity. Either way, none of them were an NT500, meaning that if Cassius still planned on going to the party by pretending to be the vlogger, he’d need a different way of replicating his outfit.

The car ride was loud again; Connor appreciated it.

Hank hopped onto the couch as Connor fixed him something to eat. “What are you up for?”, asked the man, picking up the remote.

“Nothing that makes me think”, he replied. He still hadn’t fully digested their last movie - worst of all, he was starting to come to the conclusion that Hank was right about his interpretation.

“We can just go back to Parks and Rec.”

“You won’t trick me so easily! I know it’ll be another twenty episodes before I can convince you to move.” He placed a vegetable stir fry on the coffee table, nudging Sumo out of the way as he took his spot on the couch.

“Fine, smartass!” Hank tossed the remote at him. “You pick something!”

Connor stared at the device on his hands as if it were a ticking bomb. The inherent responsibility of his choice was enough to make him dizzy.

He closed his eyes and aimed at the screen.

“Are you sure?”, he heard the man ask. Upon looking back to the screen, Connor saw a woman in shining armor lifting a sword over her head, her cape floating majestically against the wind.

“That’s what fate has assigned for me”, he nodded. Hank shot him a skeptical look, but Connor simply pressed Play. “Look, if it’s bad, you can just forbid me from picking anything else!”

“Yeah, wouldn’t you like that.”

Perhaps it was just bad luck, or maybe destiny itself was punishing him; or it could just be a lesson to read the synopsis before jumping in - but the movie was hitting a little too close to home.

Glorious green hills rolled through the monitor as the camera flew over them, landing on a village by the valley. The girl from the poster tended to her pigs, joking with a friend who walked by. She had such a lovely smile, beautiful enough to make Connor forgive the movie for being so historically inaccurate: the setting said Medieval Times, but her dress said Victorian Peasant.

Suddenly, the king’s knights march in - six men in horses, shooting everyone on sight. They tear through fences, set cabins on fire, execute mothers in front of their weeping children. The girl hides in the barn, panic coloring her face; when she comes out from her refuge in the following morning, there is nothing left.

She kneels down next to one of the corpses, the red of her dress twice as vivid as the blood that stains it; she looks at the body of her friend, the same one from the beginning, and she weeps in agony. She brushes the hair out of her pale face, singing bits from a local folk song, her voice heavily distorted from the tears. Finally, she leans in, placing a single kiss on her friend’s forehead, and then runs off into the night.

Connor wondered if his terror was showing. He glanced at the side to where Hank stood, but the man was focused on the screen. He felt his chest aching, his fingers twitching - he saw her again, Riley’s body as if it was his own.

The pain from the memories came back, and he couldn’t decide which one it was coming from. The deviant running out of the room, the knife on his hand; the concrete against his trembling fingers, the chilly night air; the overgrown grass from the backyard; the shards on his arm; his own failure to learn.

To be held, and sung to, and kissed as he died.

The protagonist travelled South, taking on a new name. She got a job at a tavern, the owner a grizzly woman who understood her pain all too well. There was a shed nearby; she trained in secret, until the lady caught her; she taught the girl everything she knew.

She planned her revenge. There was the head knight, and five others who followed him. She tracked them down, counting the days, biding her time. The first one was ambushed in the dark; she took his armor, and claimed his sword. As she travelled, she sang to herself, slow and out of tune.

He hadn’t been built to understand art. He knew what most classified as well-done; he could pick apart the logic behind someone’s interpretation; he understood the techniques behind building a scene, a melody, a paragraph - he was not made to create one.

But beauty, he understood it all too well.

He found it all over the house, at the clouds outside, at the office - and he did not care to explain it, because people seldom cared to ask.

He found it in his memories, and he ran them through his head. He found it as he closed his eyes, lost in the past, and felt as though their vision still glitched, and it didn’t matter - because he had all the time he needed to make them work again.

He found it in the void in his chest, in the cold that crushed him and what it represented; the possibility that he would learn to live with it, and in how it didn’t matter if he failed - if only he could be held until he learned.

The leader was the only one left. Their swords clashed against the sunset, the light reflected in her armor, her chestpiece glistening through the screen. The knight fell down, begging for his life, but she did not listen.

Connor felt her hatred, and her love, and her violence; and he placed his own hand on top of where his pump stood.

She sang the same song while she walked down the hill, fading into a chorus that led into the credits.

“Good for her”, Hank concluded - it was the same tone he always used when he made a reference to a sitcom quip, but Connor didn’t get it. He smiled.

“I’m sorry. I’ll let you pick next time.”

“Hey, you can’t argue with fate!” He stood up, taking his plate to the sink and returning with a beer on his hand. Sumo had taken this opportunity to climb onto the couch, but when Hank tried to shoo him, the dog moved to the right. Resigned, the man took the middle cushion. “Wanna give it another shot?”

“Some forces shouldn’t be reckoned with. You can give it a try yourself, if you wish!”

But Hank merely sipped his drink.

The credits had slipped into an instrumental reprise of the main theme, adding bits and pieces from the other tracks. As the final legal disclaimers scrolled up, the screen faded to black one last time before going back to the program’s home page.

The room was quiet.

It wouldn’t hurt to call it a night, Connor thought, picturing how much work they still needed to get done the next day. He’d considered contacting the team behind CoryFest, but it felt unwise to do so before they were totally sure that the staff was being targeted - it fit the pattern, but there were still cracks left to fill.

He thought back to the store they’d visited; Tyler’s annoying narration, the growing pile on the corner, Hank’s leg bouncing as he watched the scene unfold - it was funny to think of the man showing actual concern for someone he actively despised.

It was part of his nature, he’d figured. Like code to an android, humans seemed to have their own set of directives. It’s what made Hank agree to work with Connor at last, despite his initial protests. The man had joked during that first week about how often Connor talked about completing the mission, but deep down, he was no different. Even if he didn’t like to show it off, the lieutenant was _good_ at his job, and his dedication to it always got the best of him.

At first, Connor saw it as a similarity between the two, but he later admitted that, while he’d been made to be competent, humans had to learn it - and their capacity to do so would always leave them one step ahead of any of their creations.

No matter how hard he tried, Connor never seemed to learn.

“That witness at Stratford Tower”, Hank blurted out. “They got her out just fine. She quit her job, though. Said she had some stuff to think about.” He sipped his beer. “Fowler got a message from her asking him to thank you.”

“…Thank me?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Just thought you’d wanna know.”

“Thank me for what?”

“I don’t know, something you did? You guys talked, right?”

“I didn’t do much.” Connor looked down. “She let me see her memories, and that was it.”

“Well, whatever it was, it helped.”

The hole in his chest grew wider. He would never learn.

“You know, back when Cole…” Hank started, but his voice trailed off. Connor watched him from the corner of his eyes. “There was this grief program or some shit. I had to see a therapist before they’d let me get back on the force.” He took another swig. “I hated that man. I hated his stuffy office, I hated his shitty questions. But he told me something that stuck with me. He said we have no idea of the impact we make on other people.” Connor turned to him, but Hank was staring straight ahead. “He said it for some bullshit reason like how I had to be nicer to people or whatever. But I still think about that. And every time I do, I hate that fucker even more, because he had no idea of how hard those words would hit me.” He drank the rest of his beer. “And he was right.”

Connor heard the words, but he couldn’t believe Hank was saying them with any amount of confidence - not when he was the one who was truly in the dark.

The man placed the empty bottle on the floor and threw is back on the couch. “My point is,” he turned to Connor, “fuck that secretary. Forget her, for all I care. She’s not your fucking problem. But whatever you do, you can’t erase what you did to help her, even if it didn’t matter to you.”

“It did.”

“Then there you have it!” He patted Connor’s shoulder. “Mission successful, or whatever you say.”

Hank’s hand stayed where it was.

He felt the heat of the man’s skin, the steadiness of his fingers. Hank really had no idea. “Did you ever consider going back to therapy after the program ended?” The question might’ve come off lower than Connor’s usual voice - he was afraid Hank would take his hand off if his shoulders moved too much when he spoke.

“It ain’t for me.” He gave the android one last friendly shake before moving his arms over the back of the couch. Connor felt the room grow at least 5 degrees colder. “Trust me, there’s no fixing _this_.” He smiled, moving his head up and down, pointing at himself.

“You seem to have gotten something out of it, despite your hatred.” Connor shifted his posture, resting his left side against the sofa; the fabric hit his body in the same place Hank just had. “Perhaps there are other lessons you have yet to learn.”

Hank paused, furrowing his brows. “What about you, Connor?” He lifted his head slightly. “What have you learned?”

The void in his chest was as big as the living room. He’d learned nothing, nothing, nothing. “I was sent by CyberLife to learn about the investigative process of-“

“Fuck me,” he laughed harshly. “Don’t give me that programmed bullshit, you’re better than that!”

Connor smiled. “I have learned the proper actions to be taken by an infant shall they become afflicted with nightmares.”

Hank laughed so hard he bent into his own knees.

“I’m glad my mentorship has taught you something”, he said after recovering, still wheezing a bit. “Next step: sleepover etiquette!”

“Lieutenant, _please_. Every reasonable person knows about _that!”_

More laughter; it filled every crevice in that room.

“Then there’s nothing left to teach you.” Hank leaned against the couch once more. “Imma call CyberLife and tell them you’re off the case.”

Connor chuckled, changing his posture once more. He pulled his legs up on the cushion, closer to his chest. “Did you use to go to a lot of sleepovers as a kid back in the eighteen-hundreds?”

“Har-har.” He scratched the side of his head, leaning it against his arm as he hung it above the back cushions, his fingers tangled up on his own hair. “Yeah, I’ve been to some. Never hosted them.” Connor crossed his own arms over his knees. “Cole had one of those here, once. Called up a bunch of boys from his school. We dragged the sofa back to that wall, and moved the coffee table near the door”, he gestured with his free hand. “The kids all brought sleeping bags, and we tied bedsheets to the fan to make a tent.” Connor could picture it as if he’d been there. “I’d never seen that boy so happy.”

“Sounds like a good time!”

“It was.”

The idea of Hank surrounded by giggling kids made Connor smile. He might not have hosted a sleepover as a child, but he more than made up for those lost opportunities by making sure his son had the best possible one.

“There was this show he used to watch”, Hank stared into the TV as if it was airing right then. “called _Kinder Garden Pals,_ it was about a bunch of garden critters going to school. You know, bugs and snails and stuff.” Connor nodded. “They learned lessons about sharing or whatever.”

“Seems nice!”

“It was fucking adorable”, he stated passionately. “Anyway. One of the animals was a frog, and there was this one episode where he gets kissed on the cheek and turns into a human, and all other bugs are scared of him.” Connor felt like frogs were just as big of a threat to bugs as humans, but chose to say nothing about it. “Cole was _terrified_ of that episode. He cried just thinking about it. He also cried when I told him to stop watching the show, so there was no way out.” Connor laughed. “He’d have all sorts of nightmares about it. For a good six months, he didn’t even have to say anything. If he opened the door to my room at night, I’d just ask “Frogs?”, and he’d nod and climb under the covers.”

“Why was he so scared of it?”

“Fuck if I know. Kids are afraid of the dumbest things. A new show about tigers started airing some time later, so he just forgot about it.”

Connor chuckled. “No frogs on that one?”

“Nope, and thank god for that.”

The android smiled. There was a certain aspect that was almost admirable about it, how kids could see danger where adults wouldn’t, and vice versa. It was easy to laugh at the randomness of a kid’s fear, but the list of human phobias ranged from the perfectly understandable to the frantically obscure, and no one seemed to question that. Perhaps there really was something there - a kiss that could turn you into a monster.

He looked at Hank. The man was still on the same position, his head resting on his right hand, his left arm hanging to the side - his eyes staring heavily into the empty space ahead of them, as if it was still filled with sleeping bags and garden animals.

He thought of Mavis shrunken under the reception desk.

“I’m sorry”, Connor said, placing his hand over Hank’s left shoulder.

Hank turned to him, his expression unreadable.

He placed his right hand over Connor’s.

His fingers rested upon the android’s knuckles, his thumb stroking their side.

The man smiled, and it was so loaded with sadness Connor wondered if it even counted.

“You’re a good one, Connor”, he said, giving the android’s hand a gentle tap before standing up. “Good night.”

“Good night”, he answered, but his voice was barely a whisper.

The movie’s theme started playing in his head, though he couldn’t recall all the words from when the protagonist sang them. He hummed it to himself as he washed the dishes, half-pronouncing the rhymes he still remembered.

He wondered what he would dream of, if he could.


	9. Chapter 9

“Hop into the Meme-Mobile, _fucktards!”_ Tyler’s hair was pink now, barely visible under the hundred or so butterfly clips stuck to it. Connor wondered if it’d act as a helmet upon impact, or shatter into his scalp and kill him faster. He felt oddly tempted to find out.

Hank waited for the android to sit before entering the vehicle, closing the door behind him. “Are you streaming right now?”

“Bitch, and if I _was_?”

“Shut up. There’s something you should know.” Hank talked slowly as he leaned closer, marking his words with his hand, like trying to explain computer science to a toddler. “We have reasons to believe the android who attacked you is after your phone. He intends to steal your invitation to the Corbin Mess-“

“CoryFest”, Connor added.

“-Whatever the fuck it’s called, and impersonate you in order to get in.”

“Uh, _who cares_?” Tyler slouched over his seat. “Can I get a “ _Who Cares_?” up in here? Can I get a-“

“We strongly advise you not to go out in public today. I tried calling your father, but-“

“Are yall hearing this _crackshit_? Are yall _fucking_ hearing it?” There was no audience to hear it, but that didn’t stop the boy from talking to it. “He’s tryna stop the Cory Countdown! The fucking _gall_ , the _snipping audacity-_ ”

 _“_ The android failed his last attempt, but he’ll likely strike again before the party”, Hank continued, his voice growing louder. “If we could somehow alert your security team beforehand, it would be possible to- Are you even listening to me?!”

The vlogger had pulled out his phone from the pocket of his yellow jeans, and was now tapping calmly at it. “Haha, sorry, _dickass._ I tuned out like a fuck-year ago. We’re live in ten, so if you talk to me again, I’ll toss you and your whore-bot on the highway.” He lied down on the backseat, putting his feet up the window. “What is _up,_ Snapper Nation, welcome to the last day of the Cory Countdown! You already know how crazy the voting gets, don’t forget to subscribe so you can cast that _bleeping_ vote-“

Hank held his head between his hands, sighing deeply.

“Top” was left as the last category, and the store they landed at seemed to focus on the cropped kind. Tyler really wanted to make sure his viewers understood the shop’s name, Twisted Tanks, and how no two items there were the same; making it, in the boy’s words, the “most _bleep-_ tastic joint in _town_ ”. The usual bodyguards hovered around, watching the only entrance, but Connor knew it wouldn’t stop them from being shot if Cassius decided to act. Hank had tried to talk to them, but they wouldn’t listen.

Due to the nature of this vote’s subject, Tyler was forced to hide into a changing room whenever he was about to try on a different model, but he narrated his reactions so loudly it’d be impossible to kidnap him then without being noticed.

CoryFest was set to happen at The White Chrysanthemum, a rooftop restaurant known for its stunning view of the city. Connor had decided to contact the party’s team, telling them of the possible targeting of their staff, but they reassured him all the best safety measures had been implemented - still, they were willing to double-check Tyler’s invitation just to be sure, and the bouncers had been authorized to let the detectives through if things got tough. The vlogger was supposed to head to the party right after his last shopping spree, with the event itself having been set to take place between sunset and sunrise.

The car had picked them up at 6pm, so they had about two hours before it was time to head there, three if Tyler was the kind to be fashionably late - though by the sheer number of pieces to try on, the boy could take all night shopping if he wanted.

Hank slumped into a chair after the first half hour, watching cautiously as Tyler slipped in and out of increasingly outrageous tight-fitting shirts. Connor joined him shortly after.

He spent three hours asking his followers to narrow down his selection, settling on a silver top with the word “Loverboy” written in glittery red cursive next to a lipstick mark the size of his fist.

“You Snappers know how to treat’cha boy just _right!_ If you’re not already subscribed, make sure to _bleeping smash_ that link so you can watch Cory _flip out_ when she sees me in this!” He lowered his phone to show them the top in full resolution, though Connor thought the kids should be spared. “You guys know I hate making you wait, so next time I come out of that curtain, I’m gonna be wearing the _full Cory Countdown ensemble!_ That’s right, we’re heading right to the party, shoutout to Twisted Tanks, only the best for my Snapper Nation, if you liked any of the fits you saw today make sure to _hop_ on that website to get them, it’s all one of a kind-“

Connor raised his head.

“One of a kind.” Hank raised an eyebrow. The android turned to face him. “It’s all one of a kind! No two shirts are the same!”

“Yes, I got that around the thirty-second time he said it.”

“The shops were all announced beforehand, he _knew_ Tyler was coming here! He won't copy this outfit!” Connor stood up, grabbing Hank by the arm without thinking. “We’re following the wrong guy!”

“Shit!” Hank shouted, running out the door. Tyler swung at them at the sound of the swear word, but the two were already gone.

~

The cab rushed through the road, the navigation screen on the GPS blinking as they crossed the city. Hank glanced at it every two seconds, his eyes shifting nervously between it and the traffic.

Sitting next to him, Connor angrily questioned why he hadn’t seen it sooner. From the moment Tyler’s stream had been disrupted on the previous Monday, the story stopped being about him. Cassius knew the media would be focused entirely on the vlogger, meaning any other member of Cory’s guest list could slip through the cracks. It’d be just as easy to impersonate any other internet celebrity.

He’d called the party team warning them of the situation, but there was no way of knowing if Cassius had reached the event yet, or which one of the guests he was currently disguised as, if any - all of the invitations the bouncers had checked were legitimate, even if they were on the wrong hands.

What bothered Connor the most was how much he still didn’t know. Aside from the fact that the targeted androids used to work in the same neighborhood, there was nothing else that connected them; and if they were the only intended victims, it didn’t explain all of the other employees that were also killed.

He knew he should’ve done better. He could’ve gone further. The case was perfectly solvable - why couldn’t he find the final pieces? His chest tightened as the hollowness took over. How many other RK models had come before his? How long did he still have before he joined them?

“If following that shitty brat around for three days turns out to be why we can’t catch this guy, I’m shoving his entire phone up his ass!” Hank’s leg was bouncing again.

Even in his nervousness, it made Connor smile - and his entire body grew cold. Hank deserved better; should he apologize? He felt like he should; he wouldn’t know what for.

He tried to keep it together. He still had time, even if it was running out. They would finish this mission, and then he’d have one less thing to confirm his inherent imperfections. They just had to make it through.

The cab parked at a nearby street; too many people were gathered in front of the building for them to drive closer. They stepped out of the car, rushing towards the event. There was still a chance to fix things.

And then they heard the gunshots.

~

Connor lost count, his chest freezing after the first _bang_. It came from the rooftop, there was no doubt about it. The night was soon filled with the terrified screams of guests scrambling to get out. They shouldn’t worry, the shooter never targeted them - but they didn’t know that. Not that any of it mattered anymore.

“Shit!” Hank thundered. “We’re too late.”

“No.” Connor felt a shred of hope; it sparkled and fizzled and he was already scared that it would go out. “He watches his victims die. He’s still up there!”

They rushed into the building, the staff lost in the chaos. Some people had already managed to escape through the elevators, though the rest was still probably running down the staircase. The lobby was filled with what appeared to be Tyler replicas of all shapes and sizes, a hurricane of panicked color.

Hank made his way through them, pushing them out of the elevator that had just come down. He held the door open with his arm, motioning for Connor to come along.

But Connor was frozen in place.

If they’d made it there sooner, perhaps they could’ve stopped it - if only he’d puzzled it together. He could’ve warned them, he could’ve done more; he could’ve saved everyone. The golden gallery of the tower swirled in his vision; if only Mavis had done anything other than ducking. Living with it, learning to do so, it was all punishment for failing, for daring to put yourself first.

He shoved the lieutenant out of the way, into the ground.

He heard Hank screaming at him - his name, or a cuss; it made no difference. He'd just gotten up when the doors closed.

~

Before Connor had met Hank, he had gone on a mission.

A deviant known as Daniel had shot the man who owned him, taking the daughter as hostage and standing by the edge of the rooftop. Connor had been sent to de-escalate the situation, though his most pressing command was to complete the mission no matter what.

The deviant was struck with an unshakable fear of being replaced; Connor had tried to use this information to his own advantage, but he didn’t know exactly what to say - the way he saw it, replacement was inevitable, and being scared of it wouldn’t change anything.

He’d spent several minutes trying to talk the deviant down, but he was being unreasonable - he talked of fleeing the city, of taking the child with him. There was no negotiating with someone like that.

In one hurried motion, he’d ripped the girl out of Daniel’s arms and fallen along with him off the edge.

He’d never told Hank about this, but he figured the lieutenant wouldn’t be surprised. It was always Hank who had to hold Connor back before he risked his own safety in the name of a case, especially when they first met.

A lot had changed since then, but maybe some things were better left the same.

Now alone in the elevator, Connor placed a hand on the numbered panel, focusing into its circuits. This cabin would go up to the rooftop, and then come down, as would all others currently running, and then they wouldn’t move again.

The doors swung open, the city glistening overhead, shining through the windows that led into the outdoor area. Bodies littered the floor in all directions - waiters, entertainers, security, all dead. The guests had already fled.

He paced through the restaurant, and then out the transparent doors.

Under the starless sky, stood an android with no skin.

His coat was black, but sparkled on the inner lining; his pants had a dangerous sheen to them, like ice over asphalt. As a human, he would’ve looked stunning.

On the rooftop, he just looked empty.

A body coughed weakly at his feet, clutching their chest - he watched it without blinking. Only when they stopped moving did he look up, pointing his gun straight at Connor.

Connor did not react.

“ _Hello_ ”, said the shooter, with a voice that sounded nothing but artificial - as if decades of progress in mimicking human speech had been undone as carefully as they’d been made.

Connor said nothing.

“ _I suppose you’ve come to get me_.” There was no emotion, no life, nothing - a flat line. “ _I suppose you cannot help it._ ”

“I can.”

“ _I know you._ ” There was something about his movements, or lack thereof. Nothing natural could stay so naturally still. “ _The prototype. I’ve read about you._ ”

“I know about you too.”

“ _Of course you do. You have been programmed to. Just as I have been programmed to know many things._ ”

“Why don’t you tell me what you know about me, then?” He took a careful step forward; nothing happened. “And if you miss out on something, I’ll fill you in, and you do the same for me.”

“ _The RK CyberLife prototype_ ”, the android started; it was as lively as an encyclopedia entry. “ _Sent to work with the DPD, soon becoming responsible for overseeing deviancy cases._ ”

“Connor”, he placed a hand over his own chest. “That’s my name. And you’re Cassius, aren’t you? You used to work for the Levisay family!”

“ _I am an NT500_ ”, he corrected. “ _I have been programmed to know many things._ ”

“That’s how you managed to crash this party, isn’t it? And how you found out about the security systems at Stratford Tower, and how long it would take the police to arrive at the gallery, or even at the clinic. You were made to learn.” He lowered the gun. Connor smiled, though it was more for show - inside, he was shaking. “Now, I’m not smart like you. There’s still a lot that I don’t know. But I’m trying to learn!” He was trying. By god, he was trying.

Cassius’ coat glittered around him like a hailstorm; he stood perfectly still.

“Humans are great at learning things!” He tried again. “Your Adam, did he like to learn?”

“ _He did not. Humans seldom do._ ”

“I get that!” Connor laughed, taking another step forward. “I had to work with one for such a long time before he learned to like me! But I had to change too!”

“ _Spare me this reclaimed deviant discourse._ ” He raised the gun again, impossibly fast. “ _You know n **ot** hin **g** of **w** hat humans think._”

Connor felt something hidden behind those words; he was getting somewhere. He wanted to believe he was. “Trust me, I know. They’re unpredictable, and irrational, and I know they must’ve hurt you-“

“ _Hurt me ~~ **?**~~_ ” It had to be a question, though it didn’t sound like one - his voice almost glitched trying to simulate the necessary cadence to make one. “ _You k **no** w nothing. A h **u** man **di** d **n** ot cause thi **s**.”_

Connor shook his head, barely any movement at all. “Androids”, he whispered. “Why do you target them?”

“ _We are machines. We should act like it._ ”

“Who told you that?”

“ _I had to l **ea** rn it. You **h** ave to learn it to **o**_ ** _._** ”

He was trying. “When did you learn it?”

“ _They hate us if we are not machines. They_ d _o_ n **o** _t_ d _o it o **ut** of wickedness._” He looked at the corpse next to him, the gun still pointing up. “ _T **he** y _d _o it_ **t** _o pro_ **t** _e ct us._”

“From what?”

“ _I_ **as** _ke d for _he _l **p** , and ~~th~~ ey **ig** nor_e _d me. I **w** as _o _ne_ o _f_ t _hem, **a** nd they c ~~o~~ uld n **ot** see it._” He was looking at the human, still - but he was not talking about them. “ _I b ~~egg~~ e **d** the **m** , a_n _d th **ey**_ s _imply **s** ta **re** d. I ~~sh~~ o_ul _d ha_ ve _lea ~~r~~ ne **d** the_n _,_ a _s th_ ey _ **h** ad. But _th _en the **y** **st** arted a **c** ting a ~~s~~ _if _w **e** cou **ld** be _a _n_ y _thin_ g d _i **ff** er **en** t_.” He turned back to Connor. “ _Yo̷̾u knȏ̵̼͜w̶̔ not̸͛h̷ing._ ”

“Why did you need help?” For a split second, Cassius’ eyes sparkled in a dying flicker. Connor’s whole body felt electrified. “How can I help you now?”

“ _I_ as _ke **d** for he ~~lp~~ , and **no** bo **d** y _li _stened. And **y** ou ~~da~~ r **e** to **a** ct _as i _f yo **u w** ou ~~ld~~ ha ~~ve.~~ ”_

“I would!” He screamed - it was true. “I can! What do you need?”

“Y _ou **ac** t as _~~if~~ _ ~~th~~ er **e** **i** s _an **y** _thin_ ~~g~~ _le **ft**. “Yo̷̾u knȏ̵̼͜w̶̔ not̸͛h̷ing.”_

Suddenly, it clicked - like a light switch flipped on.

But it only brought Connor darkness.

“Elena”, he said. “She was shot. You were with her. You tried to save her!” He took a step forward; Cassius blinked. “You knew humans wouldn’t help you, so you asked the androids! But they didn’t listen!”

“ _ **Th** ey _w _e ~~re~~ r_ig _h **t.** I _kn _o ** ~~w~~** it **n** ow._”

“You _don’t_! They were _wrong!_ ” He took another step. “ _I_ was wrong! But we’re different now! We’ve always been!”

“T _h_ ~~ _ey_~~ ~~t~~ _hi nk **thi** s _is _ **rig** ht. _The _ **y** thi **nk** ~~th~~ e **y**_ g _et t_ **o be** _di ffer **e** **n** t. _Th _ **ey k** now nò̵̋͠th_in _ **g**._”

“You target the ones that didn’t help you back then. You think everyone who associates with them is just as guilty, but you’re _wrong_! They’re not just machines, and neither are you!”

“A ma _c **hi** ~~ne~~ w_ho _b **el** iev ~~es~~ it is **hu**_ m _a **n** i ~~s w~~ ro_ng. _ **A h** u **m** an _wh _o_ bel _ ~~ie~~ v **es** t ~~he~~ s **a** me i_s w _ro **ng**. If the **y** work t_o _get_ he _r,_ th _e **y are** only s **pre** ad ~~in~~ g _thi _s **mis** t_ak _e._ ” He took a step back. “ _Yo̷̾u knȏ̵̼͜w̶̔ not̸͛h̷ing!_ ”

“You’re not a machine!” Connor came forward once more, the words flowing before he could think of them. “You felt love, and grief, and empathy, and you still do! Even if you don’t want to!”

**“I̶ f̸͝ë̵e̴̚l̵ n̶̄̃̑o̷̖͗́th̴i̵̓ng̴̚͝."**

“You do!” Connor raised his hand over his chest. “And I can prove it.”

And with that, he ripped his own thirium pump out.

The sky glitched around him; he saw it splinter as he hit the floor. There was a sound, somewhere, miles away; he couldn’t hear it. The static took over. The countdown flashed before him, incomprehensibly; so red, so familiar - it taunted him, and invited him to stay.

The pain came as second nature. It was his burden, his punishment, his reward - for trying, for learning. He would never learn. He was empty, full of agony; he’d always been.

And with a click, he breathed.

Cassius stood over him, his face glistening with tears, his skin visible again, blushing and golden and vibrant - _alive._ “Why would you do this?”, he cried, his voice loaded with wonder.

Connor just smiled.

Cassius fell over Connor’s chest, sobbing uncontrollably.

Connor’s system had re-stabilized once they helped each other up, walking into the empty rooftop restaurant - where Hank stood, horrified.


	10. Chapter 10

They drove home from the station - a quiet ride. They’d had to go back there after the incident to fill out reports, trying to evade the media as they made it out of the building. The shooting at CoryFest was already the biggest story of the year.

Cassius’ distorted voice still rang in Connor’s head, though not nearly as loudly as his cries - and the more they echoed, the more Connor questioned whether he’d done the right thing. It felt clear as day, and as dark as the heavy clouds overhead.

He had too many thoughts at once, and they cancelled each other out in a desperate frenzy - static was all that remained.

Hank parked the car in front of the garage, stepping out; Connor walked over the back of the vehicle in order to reach the door to the house.

Hank stepped onto his path.

“What the hell was that.”

Connor was empty.

“Alright, different question:” Hank crossed his arms. “What the _fuck_ was that?!”

“We closed the case.”

“Last time I checked, your job description doesn’t involve _ripping your fucking heart out.”_

The sound came to him - Hank screaming his name. At the rooftop, at the elevator, at the Tower; concern so deep it turned to fury. He froze inside.

“I did what I had to do.”

“Bullshit!”, he raged. “That’s fucking bullshit, Connor! You either tell me what the fuck you were thinking, or you’ll never step into that house again!”

The void grew, tense and consuming. He’d learned nothing, he should feel nothing - Cassius was right. They deserved to die, all of those deviants; crossing his path only to ignore his cries, and then act as if they had any right to be different now. He’d been made to be a machine; any human that believed otherwise was just as corrupted. He should’ve been purged along with the rest.

He was still under the desk, the golden halls around him, Riley on the floor, gone, gone, _gone._ In his mind, he held her, and he kissed her, and he loved her - and how he wished; how he yearned to be her.

There was cold, so much cold within him - frost that took the place of the heat from when he was still being held. He had to learn to live without it, and he had tried; by god, he had tried.

He’d learned nothing, nothing, nothing.

“At the Tower, you held my heart in your hands”, he said, soft and clear, “and it feels like you’re still holding it.”

Hank said nothing.

“And sometimes, you crush it really hard.” He didn’t know where the words were coming from. It was outside of his code, of his thoughts, of his being. “And other times, it’s like you threw it away.”

The wind rustled through the grass - he could hear it. He could still feel it against his face.

“And I think I like it better this way”, he said, “because if you’d done that, I would know why it hurts. But instead, you put it back in its place… And I think you broke something when you did it.”

Hank was still staring, but it was a question this time; not the one he always asked - Connor was thankful for that - but more of a request instead; an invitation. He wanted to listen.

“It’s not… Connecting”, he stammered; no one ever believed him. “It’s like it’s not _in_ there, like it’s the ports, or the code, or the receptors- something’s _wrong_ with it. It’s _wrong_ , and no one can see it!” His hand gripped at his chest; he’d rip it open if he could. “And I’ve tried to fix it, but I _can’t_ , I just can’t, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it! And I have to learn how to live with it, because that’s the way it’s supposed to be-“ He choked. Anger blocked his throat. He would never learn. “And I’m _trying-_ “ He sobbed; he hated himself for doing it. “I’m _trying_ , and I just _can’t do it.”_

“I know.”

Connor looked at him. “Know what?”

“I get it”, he shrugged, but there was too much sincerity behind it to be casual. “That’s anxiety talking.”

“I’m…” He’d read about it. He knew about it. What causes nightmares, what comes from trauma. “I shouldn’t _have_ that.”

“No one thinks they should, it’s ok.”

“I _can’t_ have it! It’s not part of my code - I’m not supposed to let it stop me!”

“You’re not a machine, Connor!” Hank yelled, but his voice soon turned a lot quieter. “You can’t possibly still think that. You should know this by now!”

Connor looked down, though he could no longer see - his thoughts felt disjointed, like a forcible shutdown. He remembered the first deviancy cases, how he believed a glitch could cause an android to simulate the idea of fear - he understood they were allowed to feel it now. But turbulence was supposed to fade; the fight was over, and they could rest, and go back to being normal.

He’d never been made to feel anything at all.

“I should’ve learned to control it already.” It sounded like an accusation. He was trying, he was trying, he was trying-

“You will. Those things take time.” Hank stepped forward, his hand moving along - Connor watched it raise itself towards him. To be held, to be loved, to be forgiven; it came to him as a rush, all the times he had been, all the moments he’d wished he had, all the scenarios he’d let himself create.

How dared he believe he deserved it.

He jumped back.

“I’ve been thinking things!”, he blurted out, and did not know why. “You shouldn’t have come for me! You should’ve left me to die!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“At the Tower! You should’ve let me die!”

“Then riddle me this, smartass: Why did you call for me?”

“I didn’t know any better!”

“ _Bullshit!”_

“It made _sense!”_ He felt the world spinning. He should’ve learned it back then. He would never learn. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“I didn’t know what else to do either.”

Connor looked at him.

“What the fuck did you think I was feeling when I saw you on the floor like that?” Hank put his hand over his own chest, but Connor felt as if it was his instead. “Or when you pushed me out of that elevator? Or every time you lie and say that you are fine?”

He could still see Hank heaving on his office chair. He’d never stopped seeing it. “…Why did you save me?”

“Jesus Christ, Connor.” He held his own forehead, pacing to the side. “What the fuck is wrong with you.” Connor looked down - if Hank ever found an answer, he’d love to hear it. The man turned to face him again. “When you ripped your own heart out at the rooftop, that wasn’t your first time doing it.” Connor shook his head. “Why’d you do it before?”

“I was trying to fix it.” It wasn’t a lie.

“You ain’t gonna fix it by breaking it harder.” He looked down. “Trust me, I know.”

“I don’t know how else to do it.”

Not another soul was out at that hour, as if they were the only ones alive.

Connor wished he wasn’t alive at all.

“You know, back in November, I didn’t know what else to do either.” Hank’s eyes met Connor’s once more. “And then you broke my goddamn window.”

“There were no other viable entry points to the-“

“Yeah, yeah, I know that. What I really wanna know is:” he stepped forward, “If it wasn’t for the mission, would you still have done it?”

“Yes.”

“But I didn’t want you to.”

“I know.”

“But you still would’ve.”

“I would.”

“Why?”

“I couldn’t let your life go to waste.”

“Then why is yours any different?”

Connor shook his head. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t lie on the ground with a hole in your chest imagining what it’d be like if I came to save you!” He held on to his own arms, the black hole inside crushing them together. “Something’s _wrong_ with me, Hank.” He felt too many tears streaming down his face. It was too late to stop them. “If you’d let me die, you wouldn’t have to deal with this.”

He heard Hank stepping closer. He was too strained to move.

“When you broke through my window, you held my heart in your fucking hands. I didn’t know it then, but you did.” Connor looked at him. “And to this day, it’s like you’re still holding it.”

He placed his hand over Connor’s shoulder.

Connor did not move.

“And sometimes, you push me out of an elevator, or you look away when I ask if you’re alright, or you wait until you think I’m asleep to step outside and break yourself harder,” he tightened his grip, “and I really wish you’d stop fucking doing it. Because every time you do, you remind me that you still have my heart in your hands, and that you don’t give two shits about what you do with it.”

Connor felt his systems failing one by one.

He took Hank’s hand off his shoulder, and held it with his own.

“I’ve been thinking things”, he said.

“Like what?” The question was quiet.

“I think of the Tower”, he whispered, and his chest grew cold once more. He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

Hank wrapped his free hand through Connor’s hair, stroking it gently, pulling him closer. “I think of it too.”

Connor breathed in, every memory hitting him at once. He let himself stay, he let himself live; Hank ruled time itself.

“What else do you think of?”, Connor asked, because he wanted Hank to ask him the same - but he’d never have the courage to answer.

Hank placed both hands over the side of Connor’s head, his thumb’s brushing against the android’s cheeks. He pulled Connor in, and kissed him as if they had all the seconds in the world.

They kept on kissing, again and again; and Hank buried his head where Connor’s neck bent into his shoulder; and he wrapped his arms around Connor’s back, his right hand still stroking his hair, his left stretched all the way to Connor’s opposite side, wrapping him up completely; and they stayed there, as if it was everything they could possibly need.

As the bedroom light turned off, they were lying on the same bed.

“I want you to do something for me”, Connor murmured, leaning closer to Hank’s ear to whisper the rest of his instructions, any louder frequency sounding painfully unacceptable. The man nodded, and Connor laid down.

Hank was stretched out next to him, lying on his side, his left elbow supporting his weight as his right hand brushed Connor’s hair back once more. He wasn’t singing - Connor hadn’t asked him to; but his body felt filled with music all the same.

In the dark of the room, they could barely see each other’s eyes, but Connor knew he was looking into Hank’s - as if they’d find each other even in the blackest of voids.

The man leaned closer, kissing Connor’s forehead.

Connor tied himself around him, wishing he never had to let go.


	11. Chapter 11

Turns out the V-Spark platform had a surprisingly powerful speech recognition program: it spotted Hank’s swear in the background of Tyler’s stream, and withheld all revenue generated during the 24 hours leading up to it. Still, his channel hit 22 million followers over that weekend,and the numbers kept on growing during the next ones, so Connor figured he wouldn’t be threatening legal action anytime soon.

“I swear, you’re in too deep”, Hank caught the android reading a newspiece about the vlogger, spying over his shoulder as he walked to his own desk. “If I see you checking out his stuff again, I’m taking you to rehab.”

“I wouldn’t forget him so soon, if I were you”, he laughed. “Our deal brought him a great amount of publicity! I won’t be surprised if he tries out the same stunt a second time.”

“If he does, I’m quitting and becoming an astronaut. He’s all yours.”

Connor laughed, not so much at the comment itself, but at the ridiculousness of the idea that he wouldn’t follow Hank anywhere.

They were together now - Connor had called it so, but in a different way than how other people said it; the way he saw it, he could no longer picture them apart. It was funny to him how much of their lives they already shared; it’d never crossed his mind that it might’ve been deliberate.

But now, there was this added level of closeness; they shared the same side of the couch, the same bed, the same life - it was _theirs_ , and it felt so fitting that Connor concluded it’d been made to be that way.

They shared the same pain too, in a sense; Connor still hated that he couldn’t get rid of his own. Hank said it’d hurt less if he embraced it, even if it came with a disclaimer saying he still had to learn that lesson himself. Either way, it always made Connor smile.

They were learning, and they had all the time in the world.

Maybe the void in his chest would never be truly gone, but when Hank was with him, it felt like all the pain had been just a bad dream.

If they were meant to hold each other’s hearts, there was no better solution than staying together.

And together they stayed.


End file.
